A Heart of Gold
by shady stays gold
Summary: After Johnny dies, Dally does something rash and unforgivable- but he doesn't die. Instead, he lives in pain, struggling to find something good in the world that's not his dead Johnnycake, struggling to avoid the Socs' anger. Because he didn't just hold up a shop... he raped Cherry. Hellfire would melt Dally's icy outside, and all that there would be left is his heart of gold.
1. Desire, Sadness, and Anger

**Hey, this is shady stays gold, otherwise known as Shady. :) I have an Outsiders forum that needs people, so I would appreciate if you checked it out. **

**Instead of just robbing a store, Dally does something else after Johnny's death- and gets caught by the fuzz. (I know that the word 'rape' wasn't valid back then, but if I just kept saying 'sexual assault' it'd sound like Dally was a Soc.)**

**EDIT: This chapter has been edited. **

* * *

"When the days are cold  
And the cards all fold  
And the saints we see  
Are all made of gold..."

-from "Demons" by Imagine Dragons

* * *

_"Mr. Winston," said the reporter, her elaborately painted nails clicking against her clipboard. "I'd like you to describe what was going through your head during the... incident."_

_The cold metal of the handcuffs strained against Dally's clenched fists. He fought to keep his face emotionless, but if you looked close you could see the pain in his eyes. Pain and anger, bottled up, weighing heavy on his shoulders. _

_"Mr. Winston," repeated the reporter quietly. Dally's head swam as he tried to find the right words for what he was feeling. _

_"I just... I didn't know what the fuck I..." Dally stammered. Why now, of all the many times he'd answered this very question, did he choke up? He knew what he did. He knew it was horrible and wrong. He knew it was no one's fault but his own. But he just couldn't say what he was thinking aloud. "It wasn't her fault and I wasn't thinking," he finally remembered. He'd said that line so many times it was branded into his memory. _

_"But that doesn't answer my question" was what the reporter would say. Dally knew. That's what everyone said after he said his line. _

_Surprisingly, she didn't say that. Instead, she cleared her throat and said, "Mr. Winston, how do you feel _now_?" The question make Dally freeze. None of the reporters had asked him that. He didn't disguise the truth at all, and said,_

_"I feel like shit."_

* * *

A towheaded, angry greaser boy was sure to attract suspicion. Especially if his name was Dallas Winston. Sure enough, the store manager kept looking up at him fearfully like the greaser was going to knock him to next week.

He didn't do that. He did worse. Dallas pulled a gun out of the waistband of his pants and screamed, "Give me all the money ya got in this place!" And of course, the manager practically shit himself. He handed Dally every penny he had, including the money in his own wallet. Dally saw the people in the drugstore staring at him. He pointed his gun at the chest of a middle-aged lady who had been looking at him. "If any of ya call the fuzz I'll shoot!" he yelled. He looked insane as he shoved his way out the door.

Dally slammed the door of the drugstore shut with a clatter that caused the owner to come to the door and shout, "Get back here, hood!" Instead, Dally just walked faster down the dark street.

He had a terrible headache. It felt like someone was taking a baseball bat to his brain. An image of Johnny lying on the ground near the church screaming at the top of his lungs for God to just kill him flashed through Dally's mind. Dally felt tears coming on, and in case there were Socs watching, poked himself in the eye to have a real reason to cry.

After that, as he walked down the lonely street, he just let the tears flow.

_Why am I crying?_ Dally dimly wondered. _I haven't cried since I was a little kid._ Dally tried to force himself to regain his composure. He stood in front of the glass windows of a small diner. His own reflection scared him. His face was blotchy and there were tear stains on his cheeks. He closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. Eventually, he stopped crying.

_Everything's fine. Forget about it. Just keep your fucking head up and forget about it. _

Dally heard a sound like footsteps behind him and whirled around, opening his eyes. He got ready to fight, but there was no Socs to fight. There was only Cherry Valance, standing outside the diner. "Dallas?" she asks quietly. "Are you all right?" Dally's face hardened. Of course he was all right. One of his fucking friends had just died! And of course, it had to be Johnny, the boy Dally cared for like a little brother...

"I'm fine," he snapped at Cherry. "Go away." She looked hurt, but stubbornly stood her ground.

"No," she said simply. "You need help." That was a low blow. Dally never needed help. He had always been just fine on his own. "You don't look so... stable, Dallas." Dally looked at his reflection, trying to keep from spewing cuss words. But he admitted, he did look a little unhinged.

"I look fine," he snarled at her. His hands gained a life of their own, and reached into his pocket, found his heater. "If ya'd just seen what I seen ya'd be a fucking wreck." Cherry flinched and backed down the sidewalk about a foot.

"It's about that little quiet kid, right?" Cherry asks quietly. "John-"

"Shut _up!_" Dally screamed at her. He had started to cry again. "Don't talk about him!" His face had crumpled, and tears trickled down his cheeks. Cherry looked at him sadly. Dally couldn't stand that look. He wanted people to look at him with wide eyes and terrified faces.

"How about I take you to the hospital?" asked Cherry. "Maybe if you lie down some you'll feel better." Dally's hands tightened around his heater. Was that what Cherry's Socy bitch of a mother said to her whenever she was sick? 'Here, Cherry. Let's just get you a wet washcloth and put it on your forehead. Lie down for a while and you'll feel better.' Dally's blood boiled, but he was still crying.

After all, what do the doctors and nurses do when you die in their hospital? Would they call a funeral home or something? Had anyone but him and Ponyboy figured out Johnny was dead? Was his body just lying there on those sheets, head lolled to the side, mouth slightly open like Dally left him? If Dally went to the hospital, would he be able to smell the corpse from his hospital room? What would it even smell like? Death, sweat, hair grease, fire, smoke, and burn medicine, he figured.

The gun shook in Dally's hands as he gagged. Cherry looked at him, realizing something. She gasped and her hands flew to her mouth. "He's not de-"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Dally bellowed at her. He dropped his gun and took a swing at Cherry's fragile face. Her nose broke with a snap and a girlish scream came from her. Blood spurted from it, all over Dally's hands, the ground, and Dally's clothes. Dimly, he saw some Socs in the diner staring at them. Dally bent down and stuffed his heater in his pocket. He grabbed Cherry's limp arm and pulled her down the street, until he got to the closest place where no one would stare- an alley. Dally shoved Cherry against a damp brick wall so tightly she couldn't even move.

That's when she started screaming.

Dally looked around desperately for something to gag her with. He found nothing but a clump of weeds. His nervous hands grabbed at his shirt, and he thought of something. He tugged off his jacket and shirt, and stuffed his shirt into her mouth, gagging her. Blood dripped down her face. Her screams faded to silence. Her eyes were wide and terrified. Just like Dally wanted.

He remembered that night at the movies, when Cherry threw her drink at him. When she was looking so beautiful to Dally he almost couldn't stand it. Right now, it wasn't the time to think about how pretty Cherry was, but that was exactly what Dally was doing.

_Desire, sadness, and anger don't mix_, Dally thought, but that didn't stop him from dropping his pants and tearing Cherry's dress off. Her eyes were filled with fear as Dally tore off her clothes. She tried to run, but Dally slammed her against the brick wall so hard she nearly went unconscious. She looked so betrayed Dally could barely stick it in her without feeling guilty. Her fingers laced themselves through his hair, but not in the way he wanted. She was screaming into her gag and practically pulling his hair right out.

"This is what you deserve!" Dally hissed into her ear. "You ain't never felt this pain!" He began to go rougher, and tears ran down Cherry's heart-shaped face. "You ain't never felt nothin'!" She screamed so loud he could hear her through the gag. "Shut up, ya fuckin' _Socy bitch_!" he said. He pulled back away from her. All he saw was Johnny's scarred face, his dull, dead eyes. Cherry wasn't the only one crying then. "Ya don't know what it's like!" he snarled at her. "To lose ya best friend! I fuckin' loved that kid like a brother! And whaddaya say? 'Go lie down'."

Dally's face was torn between anger and grief. "Well, ain't that the best idea! I'll just go lie down for good! Wouldn't that be better for the world? Especially you, ya fuckin' _Soc_."


	2. Ire and Denial

**Shady's back, with another chapter for ya'll greasers. :p Worst typed accent in the world, right... Also, the italicized part is a flashback, and there will be one per chapter. **

**Sorry for the overall choppiness, Dally's feelings were very hard to write in this chapter****. Was it confusing? I'd really like to know.**

**Thanks for the reviews! I'm trying to break my bad habit of replying to reviews in the next chapter, so here goes.**

* * *

"I'm a soldier, these shoulders hold up so much, they won't budge  
I'll never fall or fold up,  
I'm a soldier,  
Even if my collar bones crush or crumble,  
I will never slip or stumble,  
I'm a soldier,  
These shoulders hold up so much, they won't budge,  
I'll never fall or fold up,  
I'm a soldier,  
Even if my collar bones crush or crumble,  
I will never stumble..."

-From "Soldier" by Eminem

* * *

_Dally leaned back in his chair lazily, and loudly started talking to Pony and Johnny. "Remember ol' Sylvia?" he asked them slyly. _

_"Yeah, why?" said Johnny, his eyes fixated on the movie. _

_"Well, I got a call from her a bit ago," Dally lied, checking out the two broads in front of him. One was dark-haired and staring dreamily at the movie screen. The other had silky red hair that Dallas could imagine running his fingers through. "And she says, 'Dal, I gotta tell ya, I quit you while you was in the cooler 'cause I didn't think I deserved your fuckin'." The redheaded one flinched slightly. The other girl didn't hear Dally. "'Too good for me', she said."_

_"Really," said Pony boredly, trying to concentrate on the movie. He looked more than a little bit uncomfortable as Dally leaned forward and stroked the redhead's hair. It was even silkier than he thought it'd be. _

_"Your hair's mighty well-kept," Dallas noted, tucking a strand behind the girl's hair. The expression on her face was furious, but Dally didn't care. He just wanted to mess around. "I imagine, though, it's gonna be pretty messy when we're in bed together." Both Ponyboy and Johnny's faces were redder than the girl's hair. She could feel Dally's warm breath on the back of her neck. It smelled like cigarette smoke, and the poor girl looked as if she was fighting the urge to cough. _

_"I can tell you're blown 'way by me," Dally continued (much to Johnny and Pony's embarrassment). "That's why you ain't talking back to me."_

_The redhead whispered to her friend. "That's the greaser that jockeys at the Slash J sometimes" as if Dally couldn't hear her. _

_"Damn right I am," Dally said. He grinned devilishly at the kids, winking. He put his feet up on the back of the redhead's chair. "My oh my, Johnny, just bein' 'round these girls is makin' my dick-"_

_"GET LOST, HOOD!" yelled the redhead, suddenly turning around and getting a face full of Dally's shoes. Dally was so startled his chair wobbled and nearly fell over. _

_"I don't like that word much," Dallas said, standing up and kicking back his chair. "'Specially when I hear it comin' out of a pretty broad's mouth." He shrugged at Pony and Johnny. "Good luck with these Socs." Then he walked out of the drive-in, his feelings hurt more than he'd ever let on._

* * *

_**after the rape, Dally leaves Cherry in the alley and runs for it...**_

Not even a minute after it was over, Dally was already feeling guilty. He ran down the street as fast as he can, wearing his unzipped jacket over his bare chest, trying to buckle his pants. The high he usually got off of sex and anger had already worn off, and all he felt was shame, and sadness that Johnny was really dead.

Not even raping a Soc and robbing a drugstore would hide that fact or make Dally feel better.

He spied a pay phone, and he sped toward it, gravel spitting out from under his shoes. Dally punched in the numbers of the Curtis's phone. He breathed heavily as it rang a few times. Then someone picked up.

"'Lo?" said Steve's voice.

"Hey," said Dally quickly. "Can you get Darry real fast?" Dallas heard the sound of sirens. He turned around, but he didn't see any of the fuzz's cars. Steve must have left the phone hanging on the cord, because Dally heard him yell, "Darry, Dal wants to talk to you."

"What is it?" asked Darry's worried voice.

"The fuzz is after me, man, I need you to hide me," Dally said. He didn't want to say why.

"We can do that," Darry said reassuringly, as if he knew that something was bothering Dally. "Meet us at the house."

"Johnny's dead," Dally said. His eyes prickled with tears.

"We know," said Darry. "Hurry up, Dal." Dallas hung up the phone, and started running toward the Curtis house.

Dally was used to running from the fuzz. He did it almost every day, when he wasn't already in the cooler. But this time was different. He knew. He'd only gotten a charge this bad in New York, and that was his murder charges.

Tears and dust stung Dally's eyes as he ran down the long streets to his destination. The only light he could see was the few stars, streetlights, and car lights. He saw the fuzz's cars getting closer, and ran even faster.

His face was twisted. He was tired, guilty, angry, and most of all, grief-stricken. Tears streaked across his cheeks instead of down he was running so fast. But everyone knows, there's a point when you just have to stop running. And that point came for Dally in the vacant lot by the Curtis's house, under a streetlight.

The rest of the greasers were right behind him. Even though the fuzz were coming -no, they were _there_- the first thing they noticed was that Dallas Winston, the tuffest grease in all of Oklahoma, was crying.

Dally's head rang with the sound of Johnny saying "Stay gold", Cherry's muffled screams, and himself, screaming "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" His head just kept pounding so hard he wanted to take a heater -goddammit, his wasn't loaded- and blow out his own brains.

Dally pulled his heater out of the waistband of his pants and held it out in front of him at the fuzz like he was going to shoot.

Maybe the cops didn't think he could hear them, but fuck yeah he could.

"Load your guns!"

"He's gonna shoot!"

"That's Dallas Winston!"

"Of course he's gonna shoot! That dirty hood shoots anything that moves!"

Dally was sure ready to leave the world. Guilt pressed down on his shoulders like the weight of the world. Guilt about raping Cherry. Guilt about not running into that stupid church earlier, or stopping Johnnycake from running in there. He fought to make his face calm, let the sprinkles of rain wash away his conflicting emotions.

But in the end, it was that last shout that saved him. "You know how old that Dally is? SEVENTEEN! He's not even a legal adult! I won't stand by here and let you shoot him up!"

It wasn't a cop. It wasn't a greaser. It was a Soc.

Randy, in fact. He jogged toward the cops, looking terrified out of his wits. "C'mon! Can't you see? He wants it! Look closer." He wrung his hands, trembling.

The fuzz didn't want to get closer, for fear of getting shot. But if they had looked, they would see Dally's bright blue eyes filled with all the pain, hurt, and anger he had bottled up over the years.

The police chief -or as Two-Bit called him jokingly, the fuzz king- sighed exasperatedly. "Lower your guns. We're takin' him in for holding up a drugstore, and a rape charge."

Dally lowered his gun as the fuzz did the same. Even though pretty much all of the gang ran toward him, reassuring him, he couldn't bear to look them in the eyes.

"Hey, what did they mean about a rape charge?" asked Soda, loping up to Dally. "You okay, man?" Dally looked at the ground. It scared him, he wanted so much to grab one of the fuzz's heaters and shoot himself so badly.

"How old is that rape charge, anyway?" Steve asked. "Maybe nine months? That's the last one I remember." Dally _had _gotten in the cooler for rape before, but everyone in the gang thought he was over that.

"Dally? Dally, it's okay. He's better off now. I know you miss him. But c'mon, Dal. Stay gold!" Ponyboy said shakily. The kid looked like he was about to faint, and that's just what he did.

The heater slipped out of Dally's numb fingers. The warm night air smothered him as he let the fuzz cuff him. His hands were shaking and sweating. He tried to pull himself back to focus.

"God, the kid looks pretty bad."

"This is the kid the medics were ranting about trying to shoot up the hospital, I guess."

Dally leaned into the car seat, trying to take deep breaths like he was told to do by those people at the cooler. Dimly, he heard Two-Bit's voice.

"Excuse me! Fuzz king!" Two-Bit's voice sounded like he was fighting to stay casual. "I wouldn't bother you, 'less it's really urgent. I was just wonderin', have you arrested another grease in the past few days? 'Cause I was talking to someone, and he was sayin', whenever he knows he's about to get busted by you all, that he greases his hair real special." Two-Bit nonchalantly got closer to the cop car Dally was in.

"That so," said one of the fuzz boredly as his colleagues talked to the rest of the gang.

"It sure is," Two-Bit said, sneaking a little closer to the car. "Y'wanna know how he does it? He dumps a whole bottle of hair oil on his head! And then he smears it all around. He does that 'cause when you all fuzz check his hair for drugs and whatever, he knows he'll ruin your gloves! You better check 'em." Two-Bit pointed at another car. "Go on!" Dally smiled weakly as the gullible cop ambled off to check his gloves.

Two-Bit looked down at Dally. "Hey," Dally said, clenching his fists, hoping Two-Bit wouldn't ask him a ton of questions.

"Hay is for horses, Dal," said Two-Bit a bit forcedly. "And Ponyboy." Two-Bit beamed as Dally managed another smile. "See, Dal," he said quietly. "You're allowed to smile. Johnny wouldn't want you mopin' 'round the rest of your life." If Two-Bit was trying to reassure Dally, it didn't work.

"He was like my little brother," Dally whispered miserably. "My fuckin' little brother, ya know that?" Two-Bit nodded and looked sympathetic.

"He really looked up to you, man," Two-Bit said. "You know, once when we was walkin' together, he looked me straight in the eye and said, 'I want to be just like Dally'." Dally took another deep breath, trying to stay calm.

"No, he don't. I mean, he should never've said that," Dallas said, his voice getting angrier by the word. "He don't know what it's like to be me!" Before he could really explode, the fuzz came back.

"Get back, Matthews," a cop said to Two-Bit, not looking very pleased about the glove joke. To Dally, he said, "We're going now. But first we're taking you to the hospital."

The hospital... Johnny's body... The smell of vomit from when Dally threw up after running out of Johnny's room... Nurses and doctors hustling around, finally realizing, maybe, that one of their patients was dead...

Dally blew up completely. "NO! I'M NOT GOING!" he howled into the night. "I DON'T FUCKIN' NEED TO! HAVE YOU DUMB-ASSES EVEN CHECKED JOHNNY CADE'S ROOM LATELY AT THAT HOSPITAL? WELL, HE'S DEAD! HE'S FUCKIN' DEAD, AND I WATCHED IT!" Dally didn't think he had ever cried so much in his life. His hands strained on the cold metal handcuffs until the sharp edges cut him. He just about fell out of the car he was struggling so much. The fuzz could barely keep him back. Eventually, Dally gave up and just started crying.

By the time they arrived at the hospital, Dallas had cried himself to sleep in the back seat.


	3. Wherever the Train Leads

**Hey, thanks for the feedback! I apologize for the changing of Dally's accent (I have no fucking idea what a New York accent sounds like) and the mistakes that are probably there.**

**Also, adding to a list of things I don't know about New York... I can't name any '60s gangs from there, so I made up one. And yes, the name of the gang is the Heaters. I couldn't think of anything better...**

**The chapter is not just a flashback that ended up too long. The whole thing is what Dally is dreaming. Italics is the dreaming. **

* * *

"That's rock bottom-  
When this life makes you mad enough to kill  
That's rock bottom-  
When you want something bad enough to steal  
That's rock bottom-  
When you feel you have had it up to here  
Cause you mad enough to scream but you sad enough to tear..."

-from "Rock Bottom" by Eminem

* * *

"The kid's not so stable," said one of the doctors quietly, looking at the sleeping boy on the cot.

"Better believe it," sighed a cop. "He's in the station every other day pretty much." Dally twisted and turned on his cot. He looked like he was having a nightmare.

"There any marks on him?" asked another cop.

"Oh, yeah. A lot," said a nurse. "But that probably explains what his friends were saying about him being in a 'rumble'."

"Any recorded mental problems?" the doctor asked, writing down something on a sheet of paper. Dallas groaned, but he was still sleeping.

"No... I can't stand it... it's all my fault..." Dally muttered in his sleep.

"Severe anger issues," said a cop. "We had him tested a while ago."

As the blond-haired boy writhed and rolled over on his cot, everyone couldn't help but wonder what the boy was dreaming about.

* * *

_"Winston," said a boy, one of Dally's fellow gang members, interrupting Dally's making out with his latest whore."Ya better come see this." His face was worried, and Dally jumped up from his seat in the diner. The broad he had been making out with shot him a confused look, but he didn't give her a second glance._

_"What is it?" Dallas asked, reaching in his pants for find his heater. His heater- the very thing that had named his gang. "'Cause if it's Lisa figurin' out I been cheatin' on her, it's not that urgent." They walked down the sidewalk quickly. _

_"Nah," the boy said, hurrying down an ally. "It's... I'm not tha person ta be tellin' ya..." _

_It must be bad, Dally thought. He knew as he saw the rest of the Heaters clustered around a street light, talking to each other nervously, waiting for their leader to come._

_When they saw Dally, they shut up really quick. "Let him have a look," drawled Andy, one of Dally's close friends. _

_"No," said one of the boys. He walked over to Dally. "Dal, you gotta promise ta not blow up." There was an intake of breath from the gang as Dally raised a fist and clocked the kid to next week. _

_"Since when do I blow up?" Dally snarled at his gang. But he knew the answer: always. "Look, I got some anger issues. That don't mean I'm gonna belt everyone here. Just means I ain't takin' no shit. Now show me why the fuck I came here." _

_The gang fearfully stepped aside as Dally walked forward. Dallas was in one of his dangerous moods. He could really be a good guy, but Dally meant business now. _

_"Lordamighty," he breathed as he saw the mess on the sidewalk under the streetlight. _

_It was a girl. She was several years younger than Dally, a pretty, small-framed Asian. But the thing was, she was dead as a doornail. Blood stained the sidewalk crimson under her. Her dress was stained and ripped. Her lifeless hands grasped her stomach. She looked familiar to Dally..._

_Then he remembered. Of course she was familiar! He had spent a while in the cooler because of her. _

_She was his most current rape charge. About eight months ago, Dally had gotten drunk and had attacked and raped her- naturally, without any protection._

_Dally bent down, and the smell of flesh and blood made him grit his teeth. He tried to take deep breaths. Maybe she was mugged. Maybe... Dally moved aside her dress and all of his flimsy excuses were eliminated. _

_The ground was splattered with afterbirth, and a tiny stillborn kid was in the middle of it all. The girl had lost the baby. Right here, on the street, and died trying to give birth. _

_Dally gagged, and, turning around, threw up all over the ground. He doubled over, chucking his guts, for a few minutes, until nothing else could come up. When he looked up, spitting and wiping his mouth, his gang looked at him awkwardly but sympathetically._

_"That was... holy fuck..." Dally whispered. He felt a sudden urge to start rocking back and forth and wringing his hands like a crazy man. "MY kid..." Dally looked at the girl. She couldn't have been more than fourteen. _

_"Man, get outta the street. A car is gonna run ya over," said Ben, another one of the Heaters, yanking his friend off the street. _

_"Do I look like I care?" Dally snapped. He realized he was shaking. "My God..." He started walking quickly down the sidewalk._

_"Dal, let's go ta the bar or somethin'," said Andy. "Take your mind off things?" As much as Dally wanted to drown himself in liquor and forget the whole damn thing he just saw, he didn't want to get drunk and rape someone else. And he knew he had to get out of New York entirely. _

_"Can't," Dally said. "I'm gettin' outta here." He clenched his jaw and kicked open the door of his dad's and his apartment. Fortunately, no one was in there. Soon it was filled to the maximum, because his whole gang had flooded in there. _

_Dally grabbed a backpack, and started stuffing it with clothes, cigarettes, and weapons. "Whaddaya mean? You can't just-" one of the boys started. _

_"I can an' I will," Dally said. He scanned the apartment for anything he needed. He grabbed a picture of the gang all flipping the camera the bird and tossed it in the bag. "I can't take this shit no more." _

_"But-" _

_"I'M GOIN'!" yelled Dallas. "What would ya do if ya found a girl you'd knocked up dead with a dead baby under her?" His stomach was still churning, and he closed his eyes, trying not to picture the girl, or her and Dally's stillborn kid.  
_

_"We ain't gonna have a leader," pointed out Ben. Dally grabbed one of his parents' wedding pictures and smashed it against the wall. _

_"Fine, then you be the fuckin' leader," Dally said. "I doubt any of ya'll are gonna miss me anyway." Dally didn't mean it. The Heaters were like a group of brothers, they always stuck together. _

_"Where you goin'?" asked Tom, the only black guy in the group. Dally wouldn't have even noticed him if he didn't stand out racially, he was so quiet. _

_"I dunno," Dallas said. "Wherever the train leads."_

_Dally stopped by his girl, Lisa, in her house. "I'm goin' away," he said. After kissing her goodbye (while feeling his insides twist like a snake) Dally stepped out the door, ready to run, and said, "By the way, darlin', I been cheatin' on you." He took off. The train was about to leave._

_A week later he ended up in a town called Tulsa, Oklahoma._

* * *

"Apparently, he's from New York, and lives alone illegally," said the police chief. "Looked him up on the New York records, and let's just say... the few rape charges he's gotten here weren't his first. He's got a few murder charges. Underage drinking. He's done it all."

"Where're his parents?" asked another cop.

"Mom killed herself before Dallas was old enough to know her. Dad is still in New York," said the chief. He scanned his page of notes. "Still in New York, but six feet deep. Murdered. The kid's suspected in the murder."

Dally murmured in his sleep,"Never went to school. Too poor." The cops looked over at him, and kept talking.

"Apparently, he was going to have a sibling, but his mom killed herself before she could give birth," said the chief. He shook his head, wonderingly. "If you don't mind me saying so, the kid's got a seriously fucked up life."

Dally breathed heavy. "Actually, it might've been the other way around," he whispered.

* * *

_Dally scuffed his shoes on the sidewalk of the stupid fucking new town. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, wishing he had his rep as a cold hood -a 'tuff' one, as the people here said- and his gang. Despite saying that they wouldn't miss him, he missed them. _

_He looked up when he heard a noise. A car was speeding down the street, full of drunk rich kids. Dally, new as he was to Tulsa, was neutral territory. He got away with flipping off the car, and they got away with throwing a bottle at his head. Dally ducked and ran after the car, spewing cuss words. _

_"Why the fuck you in the wrong side 'a town?" Dally yelled after them. "Goddamn motherfucking bastards!" The car stopped at that. Dally had crossed the gray area into the warning.  
_

_"Grease or Soc?" asked one of the rich kids. Dally looked at them, confused._

_"Ya only got two gangs?" he said. "That's pretty pitiful, even for a slum like Tulsa."_

_"Oh, we got a new kid," said one of the kids nastily, hopping out of the car. "Well, listen here. The people that live around here? They're the greasers. They're poor, they're white trash, they grease their hair back, they like a fight, and they hate us."_

_"Wonder why," said Dally, sneering at them._

_"Well, you fit all those categories except the hair oil, so I wouldn't be talking," snapped one of the rich kids. "Anyway. We're the Socs. We live on the other side of town, but you already know that." Dally waited for them to go, 'and we're real handsome and better than you', but they didn't say anything. _

_"Mmkay then," Dally said, and continued casually down the street. The car followed him._

_"Answer the damn question," said a Soc. Dally kept walking. He wanted to see what they'd do. _

_To answer Dally's unsaid question, the one that had jumped out of the car tackled him to the ground._

_Dallas struggled under the weight of the guy, hoping his heater wouldn't go off. His heater! Dally dug around in his pants and grabbed his heater. He put it at the boy's head, and punched him with his free hand. The boy rolled off him, clutching his newly blackened eye. _

_"Greaser," snapped the Soc. He forced Dally's mouth open and jammed a handful of dirt in his mouth. He jumped back in the car. And as quick as the car came, it was gone. _

_The door of a house banged open down the block. A woman, maybe in her thirties, barged out of the flimsy little house. "If you're beating up my son's friends again you're going to-" Dally coughed dust out of his lungs, and the lady turned in the direction of the noise. _

_"If you've been-" she started ranting again. Dally tried to explain, but all he managed to do was cough up dirt. She evidently didn't recognize him, and her expression softened. _

_"Do you need some water?" asked the woman. Dally nodded, getting up warily. Anyone in New York would just have said, 'Well, too bad for you!' and slammed their door. But the woman waited for Dally to come inside her house before shutting it. _

_The woman had fluffy auburn hair and a delicate figure. She was young-looking, and now that she had realized Dally wasn't beating up people or something, she smiled a lot. Dally felt like damning himself to hell, but he couldn't help but eye up the woman like she was one of his New York broads. _

_She put a tall glass of ice water in front of Dallas. He gulped it down gratefully, though the dust coated his throat still. Once Dally had drank the full glass, the woman started talking._

_"I don't think I've seen you around here before," she said. "I'm Mrs. Curtis. You know, my middle son is about your age. Maybe a few years younger? How old are you? What's your name?"_

_Dally didn't think he'd ever been forced to answer so many questions outside of an interrogation. "Sixteen. Name's Dallas Winston." Surprisingly, Mrs. Curtis held out a hand. Dally stared at it uncomprehendingly. She laughed quietly. _

_"What do they teach you in school these days?" she said. Dally gritted his teeth._

_"Didn't go to school. Never have," he said. "Too poor." At Mrs. Curtis's startled look, he added, "I can read an' write just fine, though." He decided not to mention his horrid spelling. _

_Loud voices came from the street, and Dally immediately jumped up and dug around his pants for his heater. Mrs. Curtis raised an eyebrow, so he forgot about getting his heater. He nearly flushed. Mrs. Curtis probably thought he was grabbing his dick._

_"Speaking of school, that must be my two youngest songs. Ponyboy and Sodapop." Dally tried not to laugh, but he couldn't help it. Mrs. Curtis sighed. "Their father named them. He was a very... creative person." Dally noted the 'was'. So their dad was gone. He felt a bit bad about laughing, but he just told himself to forget about it._

_"Oh, don't worry," said Mrs. Curtis. "He's not dead, thank goodness... he's in the military. We don't see him often."_

_The voices got louder. "An' so, the dirty Soc says, 'I saw a new kid in town. Maybe we can get him on our side'. So I said, 'Nah. You probably just were too drunk to remember how I look', and thought I was a new kid." Two voices laughed. One sounded younger than the other. _

_The door swung open. "We're home- who's he?" asked a kid. He was about twelve years old, with greased-back hair. _

_Dally looked for a window to jump out of, but he couldn't find one. Shit. _

_Another kid came behind the first. That must be Mrs. Curtis's middle son. He was fifteenish, with a crazy grin. _

_"His name is Dallas," said Mrs. Curtis promptly. "Those terrible rich boys were beating him up."_

_"Actually, it might've been the other way 'round," Dally muttered to himself, but unfortunately the boys heard. The older one laughed, and without hesitation, slapped Dally on the back in a friendly way. _

_"Good for you, then."_


	4. Jumping, Wanting, and Tripping

**Hope you liked the last chapter! This chapter was actually going to be part of that last one, but it would be crazy long. So here goes! Once again, italics is dreaming. **

**And I also don't know how advanced birth control was in the '60s. I'm just going to say that there's no pill. I really have no idea. You'll see...**

**Don't worry. The next chapter, he finally wakes up. I just thought I needed a bit of background.**

* * *

"When you were standing in the wake of devastation  
When you were waiting on the edge of the unknown  
And with the cataclysm raining down  
Insides crying, "Save me now!"  
You were there, impossibly alone..."

-from "Iridescent" by Linkin Park

* * *

"He's only got one good thing going for him," said the police chief.

"What?" asked one of the newer cops.

Dally screamed in his sleep: "You keep away from the kid! The fuck's the matter with ya?"

"He rescued a boy he barely knew from what would've been a fatal beating," said the chief. "In fact, the very boy that he was ranting about being dead earlier."

"Goodness," said the cop. "Are you sure we're talking about the same Dallas Winston?"

"It's okay, kid," the boy whispered. "You're safe now."

"Pretty sure."

On the cot, Dally said, "After that beating, goddammit, I'm gettin' it for ya."

* * *

_Dally blew a puff of smoke in the air, leaning against the wall of some building. He was still getting used to living in Tulsa. Putting up with Darry, Ponyboy, Soda, Steve, Two-Bit, and Johnny. He looked up at the stars and wondered how his father's apartment looked splattered with blood._

_A boy's scream pierced the air. Dally snapped out of his trance, and nearly set fire to the grass he dropped his cigarette on. He stamped it out and looked around for the source of the noise. He found it around the corner. Literally._

_A group of Socs surrounded one of Dally's friends. They had blades that shone in the moonlight. They were hitting the boy, too. Dally recognized the scream as Johnny. He was sobbing, too. Even Dally, who, over the months he'd lived in Tulsa, had gained a rep as 'the tuff hood with the New York accent and without a heart', couldn't help but run toward him._

_Dally pulled his favorite switch and attacked the Socs from behind. He smashed one's face against a brick wall. Another one got their stomach kicked. Dally was having trouble fighting them off, but he kept trying. He stabbed one in the arm. The two left ran for it. Dally ran after them, screaming at the top of his lungs, "You keep away from the kid! The fuck's the matter with ya?" When the Socs were safely away, Dally sped back to Johnny._

_"Holy shit," he whispered. Johnny's face was swollen and bruised. Blood from his cut-up hands and arms was smeared on his face. Tears stained his face, and he looked fearfully up at Dallas. Dally was reminded of a hunk of meat. _

_"D-dally?" asked Johnny, his face crumpling even more. _

_"What is it? Whaddaya need? 'Cause after that beating," Dally said, carefully scooping Johnny into his arms, "goddammit, I'm gettin' it for ya."_

_It turned out, all Johnny wanted was for Dally to talk to him. Dally used to not have a cause to talk to the gang's little pet. All that time, it turned out, Johnny just wanted Dally to talk to him. And Dally had just been thinking Johnny was scared of him._

_Someone wanted to be friends with Dallas Winston, the heartless hood? Dally thought._

_It was actually pretty damn nice being admired, though._

* * *

"He's gonna wake up soon," said a cop.

Dally's face was peaceful for a bit. A smile curved his lips. He looked kind of happy.

"Wow," said the police chief snidely. "I don't think I've ever seen him not scowling."

Just then, a group of boys burst into the room: Darry, Two-Bit, Steve, and Soda. "Is he okay?" Darry asked frantically.

"Why's he in the hospital?" Steve burst out.

Soda said, "Treatin' his rumble wounds, remember?"

"You his friends?" asked the police chief.

"Yeah," Darry said authoritatively. "And we got one more comin', but you probably got called about her already."

"We sure did," said a cop. "Can't imagine why she wants to see him after what he did to her."

The boys clustered around Dally's bed. Suddenly, Dally said, "Shuddup, it ain't my fault" in his sleep.

"He do that a lot?" asked Two-Bit.

"All the time," said the police chief.

The door burst open, and, escorted and protected by four police officers, Cherry Valance came in.

She had dressed in better and cleaner clothes. Her nose had some kind of bandaging on it. She had scrapes all over her, but nothing really major. She still looked pale.

"Well, well," said the chief of police. "What're you doing here?"

"I heard he killed himself," Cherry said, walking timidly over the Dallas's cot. The smile had disappeared from his face, and he just looked like he was doing the usual: wiping all his emotions away.

"Came pretty damn close," said a police officer. "What, you'd like him alive? Because this kid should've been put on the chair four times already."

"No," Cherry said unsurely. "I just know... it's not like him to do that..."

"Girlie, he's got three rape charges from the Tulsa Police Dept, including yours. It's like him. A lot."

Cherry looked down at Dally. He was shivering under the thin sheet. He usually slept all sprawled out, but then, he was curled up into a helpless ball. He looked so different sleeping.

Dally moaned, "Why am I even laughing? Johnnycake and Pony are gone."

* * *

_Cherry Valance was walking in front of the gang of greasers. She was pretending to be a Soc being harassed by greasers on her way home. All the while, she was telling them information._

_Two-Bit wolf-whistled playfully at Cherry. "If you ain't careful you're gonna fall in love with us!"_

_"I'll call the cops on you!" Cherry said. "Us Socs are prepared. Either way, we're going to have a rumble, and you're going to lose."_

_Dally's ears perked up. A rumble? Goddamn, he loved rumbles. _

_The greasers walked behind Cherry, laughing as fake-threatening Cherry in between pieces of information. _

_"You're bein' too nice to her," said Dally quietly to the gang, as a group of Socs passed by them and gave them weird looks. "Throw somethin', maybe."_

_"If you're so keen about throwing something, throw it," Soda said. With a lopsided smile, he said, "Throw something at her that's not yourself."_

_"Go stuff a heater in your mouth," Dally fired back. He picked up a rock from the ground. "All right, I'll throw somethin'."_

_"Anyway, since those brats Ponyboy and Johnny are missing, you'll have some time off babysitting to go to the war council at sundown tonight," Cherry said. Just then, Dally threw the stone at her. It hit her right hand and knocked her purse to the sidewalk. Cherry gasped in a fake-wounded way. _

_"That's it! I'm calling the cops!" she said, turning around to face the greasers. She bent down to grab her purse. Shit, Dally thought. Cherry was practically flashing her chest at the gang. Smooth, creamy-skinned cleavage, formerly hidden by a pretty turquoise dress. Dally pretended to have seen something behind a car as he ran behind it, making a valiant attempt to hide his hard-on. _

_Steve was laughing his head off as he joined Dally behind the car. "Someone's got it bad," he said, blowing cigarette smoke in Dally's face. Dally tried to focus on everything but Cherry. _

_"Shuddup, it ain't my fault," Dally said. "Really, that broad just bein' there is enough to turn a guy on." Dally hoped to God his face wasn't beet red. He tried to act casual, stealing a cigarette from Steve and smoking it, but he didn't feel like he should go back to the gang just yet. _

_"Hey, Steve. Tell Darry I'm stayin' in his house, if he asks where I am," Dally said. Steve laughed at him good-naturedly, and hurried back off to the gang. Dallas flipped him off jokingly as he walked to the Curtis's house. _

_As usual, the door was unlocked. Dally walked right in the house. He was surprised about how clean it was. He hadn't been in there since before Mrs. and Mr. Curtis died. Well, he'd been in there. He just had been too wasted or something to notice. Usually he didn't come inside the Curtis house unless he was too drunk to have memories flying at him like bullets. _

_Dally found the bathroom and stared into its mirror. He was surprised and a little bit scared when he saw that his face wasn't red. Not at all. He tried to smile at his reflection, but found he couldn't. His face kept swiping that smile off itself and turning that smile into a scowl. Dally felt a bit worried. Had he been remaining tough and cold so long he no longer had emotions? _

_But he did have emotions. Loyalty for the gang. Friendship with Johnnycake. Desire for Cherry._

_"She'd never want a hood like you, anyway," Dally said to his reflection. It was so pitiful Dally couldn't help but laugh. It wasn't even funny, but the stress of everything had Dallas practically hysterical. _

_When it wore off, though, Dally was guilty. There were better things to focus his mind on than how he wanted to fuck Cherry. _

_"Why am I even laughing?" Dally whispered. "Johnnycake and Pony are gone."_

* * *

"Is he usually suicidal?" asked a reporter. They really were there for Cherry, but she was long gone. So they settled for the greasers. Soda tried not to slap her. Who gave her the right to ask that about Dally?

Instead, Sodapop grabbed the reporter's camera and took a big, silly picture of himself grinning. "Nope, ma'am. In fact, that's the most feeling I've seen him show in the time I've known him." The reporter raised her eyebrows, but she wrote down something on her clipboard anyway.

Two-Bit glared viciously at the reporters. This was a hospital, and Dally was in the middle of a crowd of loud reporters and fuzz, when he was trying to sleep.

"Sure, I'll go t' th' store," Dally's sleepy voice slurred.

Darry looked down at him. "Hey, doctor," he asked quietly. "Does he have any... you know, mental problems?"

The doctor sighed and muttered about everyone wanting to know that. "We're seeing some symptoms of PTSD, and he has severe anger issues."

"Damn right," Dally said. The doctor checked if he was awake. He wasn't.

"Is he homeless?" asked the doctor.

"He doesn't have a permanent residence, if that's what you mean," Darry said, stiffening. The whole gang was a bit protective of Dally about that whole issue.

"I didn't mean any harm."

"He stays with his friends, usually," Darry answered finally. "His rodeo partner's place." The doctor nodded.

"The kid's been through a lot," the doctor told him.

"I wouldn't know," Darry said. "He never talks about what it was like for him in New York."

"Except that he led a gang, had gang fights, and mugged a lot of people," Two-Bit offered, butting into the conversation.

"Well, that wasn't really it," said the doctor. "If you want to see all the notes on his history we have, ask the police. They've got it."

"We'll do that," Darry said. "Uh... did you check Johnny Cade's room?" The doctor nodded sadly.

"Poor kid was in a lot of pain. We're just glad he's not so hurt now."

"Who am I? Who am I?" Dallas whispered.

* * *

_"War councilin' time," Dally grumbled, pulling himself off of Buck's couch. "Goddammit. Like fuckin' York, ain't it?" Buck laughed. Dally looked at the clock. Shit. He was late for the council. _

_Dally arrived at the vacant lot by the Curtis's house fifteen minutes past the time he should've been there. He found an exasperated-looking Two-Bit, Darry, and Tim Shepard. And a really pissed-off group of Socs._

_"Sorry, goddammit," groaned Dally. "One of you little shits-" -he pointed at the Socs- "-tried to run me over." The gang of Socs snickered to each other._

_"Shut up. We're gettin' to an agreement. This here is a fuckin' war council," Tim said firmly. The Socs quieted down. _

_"We're having a rumble," Darry said. _

_"Fine, what're the terms?" asked one of the Socs._

_"If ya'll win, nothing changes," Two-Bit said. "When we win -whoops, IF we win- you gotta stay out of our territory. Like, for good."_

_"Sounds good," said one of the Socs. "By the way, we brought some water. It's an awful hot day. Y'want one, Winston?" Dallas looked at the bag of water bottles. It was true, it was sweltering out. Dally wasn't used to the heat- in New York, it was much colder. But the Socs had got the water. He couldn't trust the Socs._

_Still, it was mighty warm out..._

_"Sure," Dally said. The Soc handed him a bottle of water. Dally downed it in one swig. He realized the Socs were kind of staring at him. "What is it?" he asked. Dally didn't know why, but he felt weird. His head spun a bit. He shrugged it off, though, because he was supposed to take anything that God threw at him- even sickness._

_"D'ya mind going to the the drugstore, get us some cigarettes?" asked a Soc. "We'll give you the money." Dally didn't know why they couldn't just get it themselves._

_"You got two legs, use 'em," Dallas said. He grinned at his own sarcasm. He actually grinned. Now it wasn't just the Socs looking at him. Two-Bit, Tim, and Darry eyed him oddly. Dally never grinned like that... "Sure, I'll go t' th' store" ...and he never obeyed a Soc. But they figured it was fine. Dally probably just didn't want to start any fights before the rumble. _

_The Socs gave him money. Dallas staggered down the street, first on the sidewalk, then plummeting off the curb. He laughed at himself, and shouted, "I'm okay, I'm okay."_

_Two-Bit shot Darry a look, and shrugged before telling Dally, "You're crazy, you know that?"_

_"Damn right!" Dally said. He walked off to the drugstore._

_As he walked, a strange thing happened. It was like all his memories that burdened him, pressed heavy on his chest, were being dissolved. Dally stumbled down the street. Wait... what was a street? Who was Dally? he thought._

_He somehow managed to get to the drugstore. "I'd like some... some..." Dally had forgotten what he had came for. A rush of memories swirled in his head, and the first thing he remembered was that he used to run a gang called the Heaters. "Heaters!" he said. _

_"Excuse me?" said the the cashier._

_"Nah, that ain't it. I'm lookin' for... Johnnycake. Johnnycake," Dally decided. He saw the person raise their eyebrows. What was that person even doing here, anyway? Dally was inside an empty boxcar from New York. Wasn't he the only person in there? Wait. He was in a drugstore. _

_"I'm afraid we don't sell that," the cashier said quietly. Dally heard laughs from all around him, ricocheting like gunshots. "What's your name?"_

_"Name?" Dally asked. Suddenly, he felt the floor getting real close. "Uh... I think it might be..." Dally rummaged around in his pockets for his driver's license. Or at least he thought it was his driver's license. "See, look here." More laughter. The cashier's mouth dropped open._

_"Mister, that's an unused condom," said the cashier. _

_The whole drugstore erupted into insane laughter. Dally had forgotten what a condom was, anyway, so he just tossed it over his shoulder. Shit. It was a Socy store. _

_The door of the drugstore burst open and Tim Shepard ran in. "You gotta excuse my friend over here, mizz, some assholes just spiked his fuckin' water." He dragged Dally out of the drugstore. As Dally left, everyone in the shop heard him screaming:_

_"WHO AM I? WHO AM I?"_


	5. We're Goin' Home

**Hope you like this chapter!**

**He wakes up this chapter. I swear. :p**

* * *

"They ask me am I okay,  
They ask me if I'm happy  
Are they asking me that because of the shit that's been thrown at me  
Or am I just a little snappy  
And they genuinely care..."

-from "Difficult" by Eminem

* * *

"Jesus, it's getting real creepy listening to him," said Sodapop nervously, staring at Dally.

"That's what you get for tryin' ta help people, ya little punk, that's what you get..." Dallas said quietly.

"What're you going to do when he wakes up?" Darry asked a cop.

"Well, technically, we should take him straight the to electric chair," the cop said bluntly. Steve glared at him. The cop quickly added, "But this is a different case. We're probably going to make him go to a therapist. If he doesn't get... well, fixed up, after the therapy, he'd go to the chair."

"Fixed up?" Soda asked, his face filling with concern.

"Look, don't try to deny it. The boy's pretty unsta-"

"Get away from me!" Dally screamed, and everyone in his room flinched, and without realizing it really, took a step back.

* * *

_"Stay gold," Johnny said quietly. _

_Dally's eyes reflected the horror he was feeling in his heart. Johnnycake slumped against his pillow, his eyes wide open. Dally felt his throat tightening. Was he about to...? No. Dally never cried. He swallowed hard, trying to swallow the lump filling his windpipe. He pushed Johnny's hair back._

_"Never could keep that hair back," Dally muttered. Then he said louder, "That's what you get for tryin' ta help people, ya little punk, that's what you get..." He spun around, and slammed himself on the wall. He didn't know what he was even doing. Maybe trying to convert some of his emotional pain into physical pain. _

_Dally snuck a look at Johnny and Ponyboy. Pony stared at him wide-eyed, scared. Johnny's eyes looked like the sun does when there's clouds over it. Two miniature suns, covered in the cloud of death, but still shining. When Dally looked at him, though, he didn't see the boy he treated like a brother. He saw that girl that caused him to leave New York, sprawled out on the ground. He saw his first murder. He saw the day that the Heaters buried one of their own boys after he was shot up. _

_Johnny's stare seemed to focus right on Dally. It creeped him out. He was just about shaking. He started slamming his fists on the wall, forgetting about the door, like he had to break through the wall to get out. "Dammit Johnny, oh dammit, Johnny, don't die, PLEASE don't die..."_

_He turned around once before leaving. Johnny's corpse turned black and withered before Dally's insane eyes. _

_"You're the one that should be dead," it told him. _

_Dally ran out of the hospital. When the hospital people tried to stop him, he threatened to kill them all. _

_It was nothing against them, really. They didn't mean any harm. It was just that Johnny's glowing eyes were following him everywhere, and he needed to run from them._

_He skidded to a halt on the sidewalk. Johnny stood in front of him, normal in body, but his eyes were glowing like some terrible beast straight out of a childhood nightmare. "You're the one that deserves death."_

_"I know I do!" Dally yelled, backing up. "Get away from me!"_

_Anyone else viewing the scene -anyone sane and stable- would know that Dally was screaming at thin air._

* * *

"Shh," said Two-Bit suddenly, staring intensely at Dally. "I think he's waking up."

Dally took a deep, shuddering breath and a shiver racked his whole body. "Dal?" said Steve hesitantly. The greasers huddled around Dally's cot like moths around a lamp.

"Where did they go?" The words came out of Dally's mouth in a hoarse whisper. He sat up, and before he had a chance to swing a fist, a cop cuffed his hands together. Dally looked at his hands, but he didn't blow up. He just stared at the cuffs resignedly. When he looked up again, his blue eyes were full of pain and remembering.

"Where did who go, Dally?" asked Darry, looking down at the blond. Covered in a tangled heap of sheets, Dally looked so... nonthreatening. He just looked skinny and wounded.

"The Heaters," Dally started. "The broad I raped last in New York. My mom. My dad. Mr. an' Mrs. Curtis. The gangs I shot up in NYC. Cherry. Ponyboy. Buck. All of the greasers. The Socs that drugged me at the war council. Tim Shepard. And... Johnnycake. Where are they?" He looked up at all the people, still trying to discern nightmare from reality.

"Ah, Winston..." said the police chief, clearing his throat. "Where should they be?"

"Alive an' well," Dally said. "They're all dead, aren't they?"

"We're here," promised Sodapop. "Not all of us is alive, but we're here." Dallas glared at his cuffed hands. The cold metal that shackled his wrists was worn on the inside. The side of his left cuff was engraved with a DALLAS WINSTON. Dally remembered that. The fuzz had gotten so used to seeing him at the station, they reserved a pair of cuffs for him. It used to be a joke the fuzz had.

"And Johnnycake?" asked Dally, picking at a dent in the cuffs. Darry started to say something, but the police chief stopped him.

"Let the kid figure out on his own," he said quietly to Darry. "We need to see if he can remember it."

"I ain't deaf," Dally snapped. For a second, he sounded completely like himself. Then a sliver of pain worked itself back into Dally's heart. "C'mon Winston..." he muttered to himself. "Think. Think..." He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked a bit calmer. "There was a fire, wasn't there? An' Johnny was in the burnin' building. I went in after him, didn't I?" No one answered the question. They just held their breath, hoping that Dally would keep remembering, and not blow up at them.

"We both got landed in the hospital. Johnnycake had a broken back. Then I threatened to kill the doctors with Two-Bit's switch. They let me out, and us greasers an' the Socs had a rumble. We won it." The ghost of a smile appeared on Dallas's face. "Then I dragged Pony over to the hospital to see Johnny. And... he died." Dally's face crumpled, and he looked around at the white walls of the hospital.

"I'm in the hospital now, ain't I? Or is this hell? It's gotta be hell. I can't be alive, I don't got shit to live for..." Dally said, his voice strained.

"Winston, since you're awake and you can remember that much, we're taking you-" a cop started.

"Thank the fuckin' Lord," Dally said. "They're finally killin' me."

"...actually, we're taking you to... wherever you live," said the cop. Dally actually looked disappointed. That's what made his friends exchange scared glances. Johnny was supposed to be the suicidal one. Not Dally, the greaser that could take anything and anyone.

"I don't got a home," Dally snapped at them. The two Curtis boys present in the hospital room looked at each other. Soda nodded. Darry shook his head.

Soda and Darry walked out of the room quickly.

"Come on, Darry," Soda pleaded. "It's that or he's off to the chair. You know the fuzz won't let him stay at Buck's..."

"If he causes any trouble in my house, we're being split up," Darry insisted.

"But..." Soda dropped his voice. "I'm not kiddin', Darry. He needs a place to stay. You heard him. He don't have shit to live for."

"Stop swearing!" Darry said.

From the room, Dally's voice snapped, "No, I ain't gonna stay in the cooler!"

"Sodapop Patrick Curtis," said Darry wearily. Soda held his breath. "Fine," Darry relented.

They came back into the room, where Dally was arguing with the fuzz.

"I don't got the money to live on my own, okay?" he snarled. "Just take me to the damn chair."

"Hey, Dal," Soda said cautiously. "Would ya mind livin' with us?"

_Truthfully?_ Dally thought. _I don't want to. _Instead of saying that, he tried to wrap his uneducated mind around Soda's question. "Whaddaya say t' that? No? Yeah?"

"If you say no, it means you want to live with us," Soda explained. The cops were laughing behind his back. "If you say yes, it means you don't want to."

"Jesus. That's fuckin' confusing," Dally murmured. In a louder voice he said, "Fine. No, I don't mind."

"You legally allowed to do that?" the chief of police asked Darry.

"I got all the papers," Darry said.

"Good, then it's settled. Winston, we'll arrange the therapy sessions... after the funeral," said the chief.

Dally's face got all funny, and the hairs on his arms stood straight up. He shivered. It was like just the mention of a funeral made him depressed. He tried not to think of Johnny, small, vulnerable Johnny, being lowered six feet deep. But he couldn't help it. He kept seeing Johnny. Johnny laughing, Johnny crying, Johnny being jumped, Johnny running in to save those kids in the fire, Johnny lying unconscious on the floor of the church. Dally's stomach churned, and he tried to will the nausea away.

"Um... Mister?" Dally asked the chief. He turned around to look at the boy. "Can you tell Cherry- I mean, Sherri, that I'm real sorry?"

"She's not going to forgive you," said the chief, smirking.

"I know that," Dallas said, glaring. "I just don't feel so hot about ...what I did. An' I want her to know I didn't get no pleasure out of it, either." The police chief was a bit surprised at his guilt, but he nodded.

The cuffs were taken off Dally, but given to Darry. If he loses it, a cop instructed, slap them on him.

Dally stood up. He looked around at the people near him. The reporters had left with Cherry. That left Dally surrounded by the fuzz, a few doctors and nurses, and his friends.

"C'mon, Dal," Two-Bit said, patting him on the back. "We're goin' home."


	6. A Hood in a Soc's Clothing

**Thanks for reading, I hope this chapter is okay. :) If you look at the quote from Eminem's "Difficult" under here, and then read this lovely little chapter, you may notice that one scene was inspired off of it.**

**The next chapter is the rest of the funeral scene, by the way. I think it would've been way too long in one chapter.**

* * *

"And this may sound a little strange but I'ma tell it:  
I found that jacket that you left at my wedding  
And I picked it up to smell it  
I wrapped it up in plastic until I put it in glass  
And hang it up in the hallway so I could always look at it..."

-from "Difficult" by Eminem

* * *

_Dally didn't want to go into the Curtis house._

_"It's all right, Winston," Two-Bit tried to reassure him. "Darry ain't gonna be mad." Dally stood in front of the Curtis house, a ramshackle thing surrounded by a chain-link fence that was slowly falling down. The smell of cigarette smoke filled the air as Dally smoked. _

_"Matthews. I raped someone," Dally said. Only he didn't sound like it was that big of a deal. He said it more like, "Mathews. I live in Tulsa." Like it was just a simple fact._

_"Shh," Two-Bit warned him. "I think Pony's listenin'." Dally looked around, and sure enough, he saw Pony's green-gray eyes peeking out from behind a bush. _

_"Ponyboy Curtis, ya know Darry don't want ya spyin' on us," Dally said, trying to sound scolding._

_"Actually, he wants you to talk to him, Dally," said Ponyboy. Dally let out a groan, threw the cigarette to the sidewalk, and stomped it out. The door to the house looked looming and threatening to Dally's nervous eyes. _

_It's just a fuckin' door, he told himself. He walked up the steps to the house, and nervously opened the door. _

_Darry was sitting at the kitchen table with Steve. Two-Bit ambled in after Dally._

_"Seventeen and up," he called to Sodapop as he tried to join the group. Soda rolled his eyes and left. _

_"Sit down, Dally," Darry told him. He grabbed an old wood chair and sat at the foot of the table. He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and tried not to look up at Darrel._

_He thought I was better than that, Dally thought to himself. Why did I let him down? The whole gang? Myself?_

_"What... whaddaya want?" asked Dallas. His fists were clenched- not in anger, but to keep from tapping them on the table, which was a bad habit of his. He felt the stares of his friends defiling him, causing more guilt to worm its way into his soul. _

_"To talk," Darry said. "D-"_

_"I know, I know, I KNOW," Dally moaned. He hung his head. "I'm a terrible person, an' I should be glad I ain't on the chair." Soda was always telling him about being lectured by his teachers. Dally imagined it felt something like being lectured by Darry right then._

_"That wasn't what I was going to say," Darry told him. _

_"Say it, then," Dally said gruffly. He took a deep breath and braced himself for what was going to be a huge lecture._

_"I was going to ask," Darry said, "-why you did that." Dally exhaled loudly and took a cigarette out of his jeans pocket. _

_"'Cause I'm a fuck-up," Dally said, just as unemotionally as he said, 'I raped someone.' _

_"Dally, stop cussing," said Darry. Dally looked miserably at him. Darry just sat there took Dally's glares. Always. But when Dally looked so unhappy, he couldn't help but say, "And don't give that look." Dally instead glared at him even harsher. _

_"Dallas Winston," said Steve sternly. "You aren't."_

_"'s'okay, I already know it. I've heard it from everyone," Dally said, lighting his cigarette. He blew a puff of smoke away from Darry, because, even as angry as he was, he knew he'd get yelled at for blowing smoke in his face._

_"But it's not true," Darry pressed. "You know full well that most everyone's opinions don't matter." Dally lifted and dropped his shoulders, like the oldest Curtis boy's opinion was one of those that didn't matter._

_"This ain't just what I've heard, it's true," Dallas spat, not angry at Darry, but instead glaring at the table. "My parents didn't want me. I was just the fuckin' result of a one-night stand. And my mom hated me enough to shoot herself, and my dad didn't even notice if I was gone from the 'partment." _

_"Quit beatin' around the bush and tell him why," Two-Bit advised Dally._

_"Fine," Dally said angrily. "I got a letter from the New York Police Dept, all right? And it says, 'We are sorry to inform you that your father, Timothy Winston, has passed away'. And then, I looked at the date of the letter and it was supposed t' reach me right after I got to Tulsa. And it tells me, 'He was found in his residence, eight bullets in him and dead. An autopsy was preformed and he was murdered'." Dally's face got hard and cold, like he was trying not to punch something._

_"My God," Steve said, astonished. _

_"And guess who's wanted in the murder?" Dally asked bitterly. "Yep, me. Even though I was in a coal train on its way to Tulsa when he got murdered. So that night I went to Tim's, an' there was a party, an' I saw this girl walking with her mom and dad. This stupid little Soc girl with both parents and everything she ever wanted at the flick of her finger. I couldn't fuckin' take it, okay?" Dally lost all his dignity he had by putting out his cigarette and burying his face in his hands. _

_Silence. Just... silence, knowing but not knowing what to say. _

_"I know, ya'll hate me, and I should go back to York an' get my horny ass outta here," Dally moaned. _

_"That's not what we're thinking," Darry said firmly. "I'm just worried about you." _

_"You shouldn't be," Dallas said. "I ain't worth worryin' about." He got up, his face icy, teeth gritted hard. _

_The greasers sat silently. They heard a muffled shout from outside, and the chain-link fence was felled by Dally._

_He stood in front of a tree, under it, hoping the shade would cool him down. Instead, he punched the tree, too._

* * *

"Goddammit, Dallas," Dally snapped at himself. "Can't you find somethin' decent to wear to the funeral?" But the truth was, Dally didn't own any nice clothes, and sure as hell he couldn't afford to get some. He rummaged through the dresser drawers and came up with a pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. Wait. He couldn't wear white. You had to wear black to funerals. Dally remembered this from the pictures of Mr. and Mrs. Curtis's funeral. He found a black T-shirt.

The room he was in was actually Darry's room. Ha. Darrel Shaynne Curtis Jr. Superman. According to Soda, he didn't even want Dally in the house. Much less sharing a room with him. The room was tidy, and not much else. It lacked a lot of furniture, and only had a dresser, a chair, a nightstand, and a bed. There were a few pictures of the greasers, a few posters of musclemen and all that shit. Dally felt terribly out of place, being used to Buck's messy rooms for rent with the stained sheets and no privacy.

Dally sighed, and changed into the clothes. As he was pulling his pants up, Darry walked into the room. "Uh, Dal," he said awkwardly. "Maybe you don't know, but you have to wear nice clothes to funerals."

"Don't got none," Dally said. He scowled. Darry was wearing a nice black suit. Was that the kind of 'nice clothes' he should've worn?

"You could borrow-" Darry started, but Dally interrupted him immediately.

"Steve's too fat, Two-Bit's mom wouldn't let him lend clothes to a fuckin' rapist like me, you Curtis' don't like sharin' your clothes -anyway, none of you are my size- and Johnnyca-" Dally stopped. He had instantly mentioned Johnny, just out of impulse. A lump swelled in his throat as he thought of Johnny's old jean jacket, tucked in Dally's drawer of clothes. He took a deep breath._ Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry... _

Fortunately, Darry wasn't looking at Dally's strained face. "You know, Dally, I really don't like you using that word."

"What? Johnnycake?" Dally asked. He stood in front of the old mirror hanging on Darry's wall and tried to flatten down his hair, which was sticking up in the front and sides again. It wasn't working.

"No... 'rapist'." Darry said the word like he was trying to not offend Dally.

"It's what I am," Dally snapped, his voice growing hard. "A fuckin' good for nothin' rapist." He took his anger out on the wall by kicking it so hard it shook. "Johnnycake would hate me." He clenched his teeth tight together. Johnny was no innocent. He'd felt a lot, he'd heard too much, he'd seen terrible things happen. But if he knew the guy he'd always admired had raped and murdered more than once, would he hate Dally?

Sodapop came into the room wearing a suit just as nice as Darry's. Unlike him, though, Soda didn't comment on Dallas's choice of dress. "We're all ready to go," he said. For once, Soda wasn't joking around. His face was somber. "Are you two ready?" he asked.

"I am," Darry said, smoothing out a wrinkle in his suit. "Dal?"

Dally was looking intently at the dresser, his bright blue eyes dull and unfocused. When Darry said his name, he cleared his throat and said, "Nah, I'll meetcha in a minute. I got... somethin' to do."

Darry and Soda left the room, but it was plainly obvious that they sent someone to watch Dally. They didn't trust him alone, for fear he would slit his wrists pretending to be shaving or something. Dally didn't even think they left him alone when he was going to the bathroom.

Dally heard Two-Bit clumsily leaning up against the window under Darry's room. Dally rolled his eyes and opened the dresser drawer. He searched through his clothes until he felt familiar, rough denim under his fingers. He pulled Johnny's jean jacket out. Dally rubbed the fabric for a few seconds. Then he put on Johnny's jacket. Being the tall, lean but muscular person Dally was, it fit okay.

It smelled like blood, alcohol, sweat, and smoke. It smelled like Johnny. Blood from being jumped. Alcohol that his parents probably spilled on him. Sweat from running from the fuzz, running into the church. Smoke from the church fire. Dally let out a pained breath he didn't even realize he had been holding.

"Hey, you ready?" Two-Bit yelled from under the window, not even trying to be subtle. "We're gonna be late, Dally."

Dallas walked out of the Curtis house and met the rest of the greasers by Darry's truck. "Let's get goin'- hey Dal, is that-" Steve started. Darry shushed him. He didn't want Dally to freak out and do something crazy. Especially on the day of Johnny's funeral.

"I'm comin'," Dally said. "And yeah, it is." He didn't look at all bothered by Steve's words.

* * *

Dally looked out of place, surrounded by black suits. He looked shabby. He looked like a hood. Yet he was surrounded by hoods, they were just dressed like Socs.

There was the Brumly gang, standing there in their shabby thrift store suits dumbly staring at Johnny's closed coffin, like they couldn't believe he was dead. They didn't even know him, but they figured any greaser that sacrificed his life for a bunch of grade school kids must a good person.

There was Tim Shepard's outfit, wearing their shoplifted suits, standing firm into the ground like trees rooted there. Johnny's death was like a hurricane for some of them, if they were trees. They just about fell over in astonishment. They only knew Johnny through Dally, how Dally would always talk about how good the kid was. Tim snuck a glance at Dally and bit his lip.

There was the greasers, reduced by one. All the greasers didn't show up, but most of them attended, wearing threadbare suits. Two-Bit's hair was surprisingly devoid of the excessive grease. He couldn't even make a joke about the situation. Darry stood as firm as the Shepard outfit, planted between Soda and Pony.

Sodapop looked just plain scared- scared that the coffin that was going to be lowered could be him someday, scared of death, scared of crying in front of everyone. Ponyboy had no such restrictions, and was bawling into Darry's suit, limbs limp. Steve had some kind of brace on over his suit that was supposed to help his ribs heal. He looked at the ground, shivering every time he looked at Johnny's coffin. His eyes were red from crying.

There were the two Socs that bothered to show- Cherry Valance and Randy Adderson. Randy was fidgeting in his expensive tuxedo. He looked like he was going to a dance. He looked so uncomfortable, surrounded by his enemies. Cherry, on the other hand, was not at all. She alternated between sad, mournful glances at Johnny's coffin, and death glares at Dallas. She wore a black dress and even carried a handkerchief.

And then there was Dally. Dally wasn't only separated by his clothes. He was surrounded by five policeman: two on each side and one behind him. The cold wind whipped right through Johnny's thin jacket and into Dally's bones. Dally looked at all of his friends around him. Every few seconds, some of them would look at him as if to make sure he wasn't raping someone else, or trying to commit suicide.

He felt trapped, to say the least. So many of the people he knew were with him that it was almost uncomfortable. Like he couldn't show his feelings. Dally nearly laughed. Show his feelings. Something he never did.

He narrowed his eyes like he was trying to glare at himself. _Don't even think about laughing, Winston! Johnnycake is gone. _

The coffin was opened then, and Dally didn't ever want to think about laughing again.

Johnny's face wasn't made up at all, like the greasers requested. He was dressed in one of Dally's shirts, and a pair of Dally's jeans. No one wanted to go to Johnny's house to get his clothes, so Dally volunteered to give some of his clothes to the funeral home for him. Johnny was so.. burnt. Dallas's stomach churned. He still hadn't gotten over one of the things that scared him sick- corpses. Johnny Cade. Johnnycake. A corpse? No. He had to be still alive. This just couldn't be right.

When Dally saw Johnny's eyes had been closed, and his blank expression, he forgot about being tuff. One tear came after another, trickling down Dally's nose and cheeks, until it was official: Dallas Winston was crying. And he didn't care if anyone saw him.

No one minded his crying- they were all doing it themselves.


	7. Stay Gold, Whatever That Means

**The funeral scene, part two. *sniffles* Poor Johnnycake. And Dallycake. Am I the only one that calls him Dallycake...?**

**The flashback is his 3rd rape charge (his first in Tulsa). It was discussed in last chapter's flashback, which was after he got out of the cooler for said rape charge.**

**I'll give you fair warning: most of this chapter is Dally's speech at Johnny's funeral. **

* * *

"Curtain's call  
Is the last of all  
When the lights fade out  
All the sinners crawl...  
So they dug your grave  
And the masquerade  
Will come calling out  
At the mess you've made..."

-from "Demons" by Imagine Dragons

* * *

_Dally was unusually shifty as he sat down at the Curtis table. His hands were in his jeans pockets, fiddling around with his shoplifted packs of cigarettes. He wouldn't look anyone in the eye, not even when Johnny grinned and sat next to him. Not even at Mrs. Curtis as she loaded up his plate with chicken and potatoes. Milk was poured into his glass. All the gang was there, sitting around the small table, eager for food. Mrs. Curtis left the room with her plate, knowing the greasers wanted some space._

_"What's up with you, Dal?" asked Sodapop cheerfully, digging into his mashed potatoes. The other greasers started on their food, shouting thanks to Mrs. Curtis, who had made the meal. "Got drunk last night?" he asked, noticing Dally picking at his food. Typical hangover symptoms... at least that's what it looked like. Dally gave up poking at the steaming chicken and dropped his fork._

_"Nope, I just... uh, went to a movie," Dallas lied. His insides twisted like a bait worm on a hook._

_"That's cool," Soda said. It was blatantly obvious Dally was lying to him, but he knew better than to ask. Darry cleared his throat._

_"Hey, I heard some sirens last night," he told the gang seriously. "Any of you involved? The last thing us Curtis boys needs is to be 'harboring a runaway'." Dally's head throbbed, and he looked down at his plate. The sight of the food, as good as the other greasers found it, made Dally feel even more sick. It wasn't the flu or something like that- it was guilt. Guilt and cadavers- the two things that never failed to make Dally sick. _

_"'A 'course not," Two-Bit said with his mouth full. His friends followed in a succession of nos, nopes, and nahs. Dally kept quiet, wishing for once he didn't stand out so much. Naturally, everyone noticed._

_"You weren't here last night, Dal..." Steve said, a smile creeping onto his face._

_"Did the poor boy drink too much?" Two-Bit snickered. "Get caught drunk drivin'? Run over a Soc?" Johnny looked stricken at the possibility of his best friend running over a (well, not so innocent) Soc. _

_"You look kinda off, Dally," observed Ponyboy. Dally's eyes blazed. He hated pity, and was hoping that his friends hadn't guessed what had happened. But how could they? _

_"Shut up!" Dally spat. "I didn't do nothing, it's nothing, nothing at all..." Dally said frantically. He looked around for an excuse not to talk and found the plate in front him, stocked with food that he probably couldn't keep down. _

_Everyone knew it had to do with Dally. He had started tapping his fingers on the table to calm his nerves. Dallas saw the stares fixated on him, and, red-faced, started shoveling down his food faster than anyone should unless they really wanted to choke. He didn't want to talk about it, or about anything for that matter. He finished his plate of chicken with all the greasers staring dumbfoundedly at him. Why was he eating so fast, when minutes before he couldn't eat a bite? Dally wolfed down his potatoes. _

_As he was washing it down, his stomach heaved. Dally got up and ran for the bathroom. He made it just in time to flip open the toilet seat and puke until nothing could or would come up. He heard someone coming toward him, running. Probably Darry. Dally rinsed his mouth out and spat in the sink until the foul taste of vomit had disappeared. His shirt front was splattered with bile, so he tore it off. _

_"She was TEN! Ten, goddammit!" Dally shouted as the person walked into the bathroom. Dallas looked at his reflection in the mirror. Bare-chested, lean, pale, guilt-stricken. Dally saw Johnny's reflection in the mirror, and could practically see him putting the pieces together. Yes- Dally had raped a ten-year-old Soc girl. Dallas slammed a fist against the side of the sink, fighting the urge to cry. _

_Johnny walked closer to Dally._

_"Dal?" he asked quietly. "Do you need some time alone?" Just seeing those big dark eyes made Dally feel guilty. _

_"Yeah. Kinda," Dally said, gripping the sides of the sink tightly. When Johnny started to leave, he added, "You- uh, I don't mind ya stayin'." Johnny crept back in quietly. Dally closed his eyes, shaking, hearing pubescent screams echo in his ears. _

_"I'm goin' ta hell, I'm goin' ta hell," Dally murmured as Johnny talked soothingly to him and patted his bare back. "I'm goin' ta hell, I'm goin' ta hell..." After a while, Dally's clenched muscles had relaxed and his muttering had stopped. _

_"Johnnykid?" he said quietly. "I'm okay, you can go." To Dally's surprise, Johnny didn't run straight out of there. He walked, which made Dally think: was Johnny the only person that didn't think of him as a rapist now? A pervert and a child molester? _

_What kind of asshole rapes a ten-year-old? Damn right he was going to hell._

* * *

"...and though his body may rot and decay, let his spirit live on," said the priest.

That was Dally's cue to walk next to the coffin with his police escorts and make his speech about Johnnycake. But Dally was petrified, staring into the deeply and eternally sleeping closed eyes of his old friend. One of the cops nudged him forward. On numb feet, Dallas walked toward Johnny's wooden coffin.

Darry tried to give him an encouraging look while holding onto the wailing Ponyboy and the shivering Sodapop. _You've got everything in your speech written down, _he mouthed. The truth was, Dally didn't. When asked to make a speech at the funeral, Dally accepted. He had a week's warning. When there was two days before the funeral, Darry had talked to Dally, telling him to write his speech ahead of time. Dally tried, but it had ended up awkward, unemotional, and choppy. Not to mention badly spelled.

As follows:

_Johnny Cayd was my best friend? Me and him wer really close __and I saved his life at the Jay mountin Church He was a real good kid. _

So when Darry asked "Hey, Dal, do you have your speech done?" Dally lied and told him he did. But now he was totally unprepared.

"Uh... 'lo," Dally started awkwardly. "My name's Dally- I mean, Dallas Winston. Ya'll probably saw my name in the papers." In spite of himself, Two-Bit grinned. Dally just couldn't lose that New York accent. "First for savin' some little kids at the Jay Mountain Church fire. Then the front-page article, for survivin' this kid." Dally's fingers hesitantly touched the side of Johnny's coffin. "I ain't his family, but he just as well might be my brother."

Dally's fingers rubbed at the wood of Johnnycake's coffin until he worked a splinter loose. It jammed into his pale finger, and a drop of crimson blood stained the side of the coffin. Dally stared at his finger like blood was a totally new thing to him. Though he'd seen it so often... One of the fuzz pulled his bleeding hand back like he might try to do himself in by giving himself a splinter. He reached into his jeans pocket and brought out a newspaper article.

"And last of all, I was in the paper for this article," Dally said, pointing at the newspaper. "Ya'll can't read it, standing that far 'way, but you probably know what it says. 'In Grief, Young Man Rapes Girl'." Dallas's throat tightened as he admitted that out loud. "Ya know what brought on that grief? This kid." Dally reached out again and patted the coffin.

"He'd probably be scared of me now. Or even hate me. See, Johnnycake -that's what I call, I mean, _called, _him- was a real good person. He'd never hurt nobody, 'less the hurt him or his friends first. He was my... goddammit, what's the word... opposite. But everyone tells me he really looked up to me. He'd never had a good life at home," Dally said. "His parents were always gettin' drunk an' beatin' on him. I think Johnny was better off with me and my friends than them. He was real quiet, but you knew that he had a reason to be.

Once, me and him was walkin' to the drive-in. We saw a little kid cryin' on the sidewalk. I wanted to keep walkin', but Johnny wouldn't let me. We stopped. It was Halloween night, actually, and the kid was trick-or-treatin'. A little greaser girl, maybe in pre-K. The kid was trick-or-treatin' alone and ended up on the Socs side of town. The rich kids, I mean, by Socs. It's short for Socials," Dally told the funeralgoers.

"Anyway, Johnnycake asked the kid what was wrong. One of the Socs had stolen the kid's candy, punched their lights out, and ran off."

Dally's cornflower-blue eyes filled with the light of remembering. His hands gripped the side of Johnnycake's polished walnut-wood coffin. Even though the wind was whipping his hair in all directions, even though vultures circled overhead, Dally was unfazed. He was telling a story about Johnny, and dammit, he was going to tell it. A smile crossed his face as he remembered.

"The kid saw me and screamed, 'cause her momma told her I was a terrible murderin' rapist." Darry glared at Dally, as if to tell him not to call himself that. "But Johnny, he told that kid it was all gonna be okay. He sat right down on the sidewalk curb nexta her. Looked me straight in the eyes and said, 'Dallas Winston, you're gonna go get her candy back and make that dirty Soc pay'. I never heard him talk to me like that.

It took me an hour, but I tracked down the Soc, got the kid's candy back, and got a few punches in. I went back to the street corner Johnny an' was waitin' at, and what I saw was just about the nicest thing," Dally said.

The smile stayed on Dally's face, wide and joyful, happy for once, as he was comforted by the familiar memory. He looked down at Johnny's relaxed features. Making a split decision, Dally reached out, and smoothed back Johnny's choppy black hair. It just popped back to where it was before. The rest of the greasers were a bit astonished. Not only was Dally actually touching a corpse, he wasn't freaking out and going homicidal.

"I found Johnny sitting on the curb, the little girl's head in his lap. She was all curled up to him, sleepin' heavy. Johnnycake looked up at me and smiled. I never saw him look so happy in his life. I set down the bag of candy next to the girl, an' the sound woke her up. She saw me and leaped up and hugged me." Dally smiled wistfully, as if he was still feeling the girl's arms wrapping around his knees. "And I kinda got, then, why Johnny was such a good kid. I had to get stitches because I split open on the bottle the Soc was carryin', I wasted a nice movie, but I felt good, ya dig?" Some of the greasers were managing crooked, shaky smiles.

"That was Johnny. He'd give his life for someone, pretty much anyone, and that's how he went down. Always figured he'd leave us that way," Dally said, sighing. He looked down at the brave boy in the coffin who deserved to be walking with the living.

"I wanna say, too, I know it's pretty shitty to show up at your best friend's funeral in street clothes," Dallas admitted. "But first of all, I ain't got nothin' else to wear. Second, this jacket used to be Johnnycake's. The only coat he owned, and if I guess right, it's shoplifted. But that don't matter. He wore this when he saved all of those kids, when I saved him from the fire. He wore this when he killed someone- and yeah, he did kill someone," Dally said. "He wore this jacket when he was jumped by the Socs. In fact, if ya look here- that's blood," Dally said, pointing at the collar of the jeans jacket.

"It's been sittin' with my clothes ever since, but today I kinda felt like I had to wear it," the blond hood said.

Dallas's eyes scanned the funeralgoers and the cemetery. His throat was clogging up, he was going to cry, and he had no idea what else he could say. Then a sniffling sound attracted his ears. It was of Cherry, sobbing into her handkerchief. Then he knew exactly what to say. He owed it to Johnny.

"Hate to talk some more about myself, but I gotta get this out. When I..." Dally's voice cut off in a strangled word. A tear ran down his face. "When I _raped _Sherri Valance, it wasn't for Johnny." The word 'raped' come out of Dally's mouth hoarsely. "It wasn't because I thought, 'Oh, Johnny's dead. Better go rape someone'. It was because I got problems, and him dyin' made them worse. I think if he knew that, maybe he'd rest happy."

The boy's emotions were jumbled up and his eyes burnt with held-back tears. He closed his eyes and picture Johnnycake laughing. (Deep breath.) Johnny looking uncomfortable as Dally tried to win over Cherry. (Deep breath.) Johnny and Dally vandalizing the Socs houses together. (Deep breath.) He opened his eyes, and wiped them roughly with the sleeve of Johnny's jeans jacket.

"Stay gold, Johnnycake," he said, and ruffled the dead boy's thick hair. "Whatever that means," he muttered.

He turned around at the sound of clapping, startled. But even though he was a 'terrible murdering rapist', he got a round of applause.


	8. Death Takes its Toll

**Dally's first therapy session, but this chapter ended up getting taken up by the flashback. **

**The flashback is when Dally is in/gets out of the cooler for his 3rd rape charge. **

**Warning: Flashback contains some pretty minor sexual contact. Also, in Dally's letter to Tim and the paper that the therapist makes him write, there's stuff spelled wrong. I did that on purpose.**

* * *

"...Hey officer, man, we don't want nobody getting killed  
Just open up that cell, let my brother out of jail  
I got money for the bail now, well now  
If you asking will I tell now? Hey, hell naw..."

-from "Crooked Smile" by J. Cole

* * *

_You shouldn't really expect much when you're in the cooler._

_Don't expect you're going to break out. Don't expect that you can rally the prisoners into all breaking out. Don't expect for someone to pay your bail. Don't expect to be the most feared person in the jail. Don't expect to have a cell all to yourself. Dally had learned all of those things._

_Dallas was dragged through the maze of cells, cuffed and escorted by cops. "Let's just shove him in here with Peter," one of the prison guards told the fuzz. The cuffed greaser glared at the ground. He had never shared a cell before, and from what Tim Shepard always said, it sucked dick. _

_He was dumped into a double cell, and his cuffs were taken off. Wincing, Dallas sat up. He nearly scooted back in surprise when he saw a slightly chubby man staring down at him. "Holy fuckin' sh-" Dally started, but quickly stopped himself. _

_Peter- such an innocent name for a definitely psycho guy. He had a crazed look in his eyes, tufty hair, and a weird grin. He was about twenty-five._

_"Name's Peter," he said gruffly, sticking out a hand to shake. Under his fingernails, dirt piled up. His hands were calloused and covered in who-knows-what. But in the cooler, you have to be tough. So Dally shook Peter's hand. As soon as Dally's thin fingers touched the older man's hand, they were gripped so tightly it cut off Dally's circulation._

_"Uh... mine's Dallas," he said, trying to get the man to let go. It was starting to hurt. But he wouldn't. It was kinda weird, but his fingers probed Dally's bony hands for a minute or two before letting go. _

_"Whatcha do to get in here?" asked Peter, spitting on the floor and sitting next to Dally. Peter smelled like piss and dirt._

_Dally tried to act casual about it. "Rape. You?"_

_"Ah. Well, you and me are gonna get along just fine, then. I'm in here for sex trade. Not whorin' myself," Peter said. "Others." Dally's stomach curled in on itself, and he nodded like it was no big deal. Inside, he felt like trying to shimmy through the metal bars and run for it._

_A rapist greaser and a pervert sex trader together in the same jail cell? It was gonna be a long year..._

_Dally had no clue, but it was about to get a lot worse than he thought._

_First of all, Peter would take his meals when the guards weren't looking. Dally ended up with one meal every other day, while Peter grew fatter. Dally could just about count his own ribs. "Gimme that," Peter'd say, and snatch whatever skimpy meal the guards had given him. Dally tried to protest the first day, and ended up with a kick to the head._

_There was no beating around the bush- Peter was as violent as Johnny's parents. When Dally said something out of line, he got hit. When Peter got bored, Dally got hit. When Dally didn't do what Peter wanted, he got hit. Dally ended up with bruises all over him, and even a few cuts. _

_No wonder Peter was the leader of a sex trade. He was the leader of just about everything and everyone. Even Dallas. "Hey, boy," Peter told him not an hour after he entered the cell. "How about you and me break outta here, hmm?" Turned out, that was code for 'You're going to help me break out, goddammit, you little shit'. _

_Peter forced Dallas to provide materials for weapon-making. Actually, it wouldn't have been too hard. They just needed to attack a guard giving them food, and run. But the older guy made it hard. Dally wasn't allowed to eat at all sometimes -he should save food up- and he was forced to save his sporks he got for his food, to be turned into knives. Only Dally couldn't make the knives. Peter was smart enough to know that the towheaded kid would use them against him. _

_Dally was starving, lonely, scared of Peter, and most of all, angry as fuck._

OoOoOoO

_An entire month passed by with Dally like that. Dally kept wishing a day wasn't twenty-four whole hours. About fifteen of them were spent wrestling with his cellmate, trying not to get his teeth knocked out. _

_He went to sleep late one night after planning the supposed jailbreak with Peter. He slept on the right side of the cell, which, naturally, just had to be nearest to the bathroom. It stunk, but it was a floor, and Dally had been pacing around the cell all day. He laid his tired head down on the cement floor, and closed his eyes._

_Religious people were fuckin' idiots, according to Dally. But all those nights in the cooler, he couldn't help but folding his hands and whispering this prayer three times in a row, for some kind of luck:_

_"Dear Lord. My name is Dallas Winston. I ain't the best person, and I hurt a lot of your children. Or your brothers an' sisters. Or somethin' like that, I never been to church. But I'm in jail with this guy, and he's beatin' on me. I got some friends back in Tulsa, where I live, and I really miss 'em. Make them okay, too. Amen." _

_Then Dally made the sign of the cross sloppily, and fell asleep._

_When he woke up, he didn't really feel quite right. There was this weird feeling that something wasn't right. Or, as his old gang, the Heaters, would say: "Someone's shootin' up ya headstone." Kind of like 'someone's walking on your grave'. It was irony, because sometimes their rivals would go shoot up headstones in the cemetery. Someone was sure shooting up Dally's headstone now. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to have to face Peter. Then he felt something else. Kind of like someone was touching his dick, oddly. He had no idea what that feeling was really, until he opened his eyes._

_Peter was kneeling by Dally, his calloused fingers literally wrapped around Dallas's dick. He had a crazy, turned-on look on his face. Dally instantly drew himself toward the wall and leaped up, trying to find a switchblade or a heater. He only found one of the sporks Peter had whittled into a knife. Dallas was shaking in rage, still feeling the guy's fingers touching him. _

_"IF YOU FUCKIN' TOUCH ME AGAIN I'LL TEAR OFF YOUR HEAD!" he screamed at Peter, wielding the spork/knife threateningly. "YOU STAY AWAY FROM ME!" The rapist violated- Dally had a small taste of his own medicine, and it sure as hell didn't taste good. _

OoOoOoO

_Dear tim Shepard._

_This is your buddy, Dally Winnston. The people at the cooler said I could right a letter to you. I'm havin some truoble. I'm in a double cell and my cellmate is hitting me I woke up the othr day and he was practically getting a hard on cause of me and he was touchin me. I need to get out of here Tim, seriusly. _

_From Dallas Winston._

OoOoOoO

_The sound of footsteps was heard by both occupants of Dally's cell. Peter tucked the spork/knife he was whittling into his shirt quickly, and Dally sullenly leaned against a wall._

_"Get up, Winston," said a guard. "It's your lucky day. Someone just paid your bail."_

_"What?" Dally asked, hardly daring to believe his words. "I don't know anyone with that kinda money."_

_"You knew them," the guard said, his face grim. He opened the door, and let Dally stick his wrists out. When he was cuffed, he stepped all the way out of his cell, leaving Peter behind. Dally couldn't believe it. He was out! He had no clue who paid his bail, but he was out, he was free, he wasn't going to get beat anymore! A crazy grin covered his face._

_Dally and the guards walked down the halls. "You look awfully skinny, and we're feeding you twice a day. What are you, bulimic?"_

_"Nope, sir," Dally said, grinding his teeth and tasting blood from his chapped lips. "Peter's been takin' my food." The guard nodded. _

_"He's hitting you? Getting turned on by you?" asked the guard._

_"How'd ya know?" asked Dally, scuffing his shoes on the cement floor. _

_"Your letter to your friend. We read through them before we send them, just in case they're breaking any of our rules here," said the guard, leading Dally. "The people that paid your bail are out in the parking lot. They've signed your papers, and you can just go ahead and-" _

_Dally stuck out his wrists, which the guard un-cuffed. Dally ran out of the jail in his orange jumpsuit so fast you'd think he was actually breaking out. His feet flew across the parking lot, and his arms spread out, feeling the wind whip past. The light of the sun practically blinded him. He found the battered truck instantly. All his friends, and the Shepard brothers. _

_"How'd ya get me let out?" Dally hollered to them. But they just looked depressed, like there was something they weren't telling him. "Now, I don't mean t'be rude, but ya'll don't got the money." He met them, grinning still. He leaped into the bed of the truck. "So, what's been goin' on? Thank the Lord ya'll got me out, there was a bit 'a trouble-" _

_Just then he noticed that they weren't smiling. Some of them were trying, true, fake smiles plastered on their faces, but the smiles didn't reach their eyes. Johnny ducked his head when Dally threw an arm around him. Even for quiet little Johnnycake, that wasn't normal. _

_"Dallas," said Darry. Dally startled. Darry never called him 'Dallas' unless he was serious. And sure enough, Darry's eyes looked kind of red and dull. He looked different somehow._

_"What?" Dally asked. "What happened?" Fear started to bubble up in his chest. "Oh shit, did that girl I raped get pregnant? Did she die? Oh God, this happened before and-"_

_"Dallas," Darry said, louder._

_"Someone's hurt, ain't they," Dally said, panicking. "Ya'll killed a Soc. Ya took after me and raped someone. We had a rumble and lost. Someone got jumped and can't walk or someshit." He kept listing bad things until Darry finally couldn't take it._

_"DALLAS!" Darry yelled. Dally practically jumped. _

_"What?" Dally asked, less frightened. He took a deep breath. "One of you paid the bail and got evict-"_

_"Stop guessing, Dal," said Sodapop, his voice unlike him. It was hard and angry. "Darry, just tell him."_

_Dally looked around fearfully. Darry cleared his throat and said, "Dad came back from the army while you were gone."_

_"That's good, ain't it?" asked Dally, puzzled._

_"Mmhm," Darry said absentmindedly, chewing on his lip. "Well, uh, Dal. We did have a rumble while you were gone, but we won it, fighting with Tim over here. And the Socs got mad. They were sure they were going to win. They got really mad..." Darry trailed off, looking for a split second like tears were close. "So they came by our house one night a week or two ago, and they had heaters..." Darry couldn't say anymore. "Me 'n Soda 'n Pony were at the movies..."_

_"No," Dally said. He was trembling. A minute ago, he was euphoric. Now everything was crashing down around him. "No, no, no, this isn't... they didn't..." Dally saw the letter he had got about his dad. Shots in him. Dally knew it was a rival gang that killed his father. Did that happen sometimes in Tulsa, too? "They wouldn't... they're just stupid fuckin' dumbass rich white trash Socs..." Dally was shaking so hard it looked like there was an earthquake. _

_"Stay calm, Dal," Tim said, holding Dally's arms behind his back quickly. He knew that look on Dally's face. He was either about to scream, puke, or kill someone. His head was spinning from the times Peter had knocked it against the cement cell floor._

_What really kicked it was when Johnny said quietly, "The money that paid your bail was the money that the Curtis family got to compensate for their parents' deaths."_

_He didn't know what 'compensate' mean, but Dally still screamed like there was a knife in his gut. _

* * *

"Right on time, Dallas," said the therapist, smiling at him. "Good. Come with me." Dally was lead down a carpet-and-wood hallway. The walls were painted a pleasant green color.

"What do I gotta do?" he asked the therapist. According to her nametag, her name was Dr. Smythe. She was a chubby old lady that wore a sweatshirt.

"Have to," she corrected him. "Sit down here." She pointed to a comfortable-looking chair. In front of it was a wooden desk lit by a reading lamp. "Dallas, do you have any nicknames I should call you?"

Dallas nearly told her how all his friends called him Dally and Dal. But he kept his mouth shut and shook his head. For some reason, he didn't feel good about telling this lady his nicknames.

"Okay, then. Let's get right to business," Dr. Smythe said. She handed him a white sheet of paper. "Write down some things about Johnny. You two's relationship."

Dally took the ballpoint pen she offered him and licked his lips. He positioned his hand over the paper, ready to right. But he had no idea what to write. After a minute or so of thinking, he wrote down:

_Brothers we were like brothers. He was a real nicce kid and I wasnt. We weren't alyke but we got along good. _

When he presented the paper to Dr. Smythe, she raised her eyebrows. Dally fidgeted, knowing his grammar and spelling must be terrible. He had learned to read and write from his gang in New York. He didn't remember it very well, but he could read, at least.

"So, you weren't really brothers?" said the old therapist. Dally nodded. "You got along very well. Was your relationship any more than friendship?" The question came out of nowhere, and Dally turned bright red.

"Oh fuck no- I mean, no way, lady. I ain't queer," Dally said. "He was like my little brother, but we wasn't together." Goddamn. He looked down at his hands, embarrassed. Did everyone really think he was gay for Johnny?

"Your record says different," Dr. Smythe commented.

"Does it say I raped a guy? 'Cause that's wrong. They was all girls," Dally snapped. He was starting to get really pissed off at the therapist.

"All right, I believe you," Dr. Smythe said, attempting a smile at him. "Well now, Dallas. I'll just give you a bit of homework." She paused, evidently expecting some sort of reaction for him.

"Work... at home?" he asked, confused.

"Yes," she said. "Did you not go to school?"

"Never have," Dally said. "Never will. What's the... homework?" He said the word like it was very new to him.

"I'd like you to take this journal," said Dr. Smythe, handing Dally a little book. "On the first page, write down ten -no, fifteen- good things in the world." She smiled a bit sadly at him. "I imagine he'll let you see it sometime, but your friend Ponyboy Curtis has a message from Johnny. He wanted to let you know that there's good in the world."

"There ain't," Dally said flatly, but he accepted the journal. "Hey, mizz therapist lady? Can these good things be dead?"

"No, Dallas," Dr. Smythe said. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll be able to come up with something."

As Dally walked back to the Curtis house that night, he tried to list good things in the world. He couldn't come up with one.


	9. Southern Gentlemen

**Hope you're enjoying this! Yes, this chapter had no flashback... and the quote doesn't fit it...**

**Warning: This is my headcanon of Darry and if you don't like, it's cool with me. Just try not to flame.**

* * *

"All I see is murder murder, my mind state  
Makes it too late for cops in tryin' to stop the crime rate  
All I see is murder murder, my mind state  
Murder, murder, murder, and kill, kill, kill!"

-from "Murder Murder" by Eminem

* * *

The Curtis house was dark and somewhat creepy to Dally as he walked in. No bright lights were on, the TV was off, and everyone was sleeping. It was too quiet. Dallas kept looking over his shoulder, like somebody or something was following him. He couldn't help but see the bullet holes that broke through the kitchen window, from the Socs' driveby shooting that killed the Curtis parents eight months ago. He swallowed and walked to Darry's room.

Dally was just about to barge in, but he saw a small light in the room. He knocked quietly.

"Come on in," Darry said. Dally opened the door and found Darry's muscled frame sprawled out on the bed, reading something. "How'd therapy go, Dal?" he asked as Dally threw the little journal and pen set he was given in the general direction of the nightstand.

"Fuckin' terrible," Dally said grumpily. Dammit, he hated Darry just then. Dally just felt so isolated from the rest of the gang, and since Darry was the technical leader, he wanted to take it out on him.

"It couldn't have been that bad," Darry said wisely. "You just aren't taking it well." Dally glared. If they weren't trying not to wake up Soda and Pony, he'd throw a punch. Darry had fought Dally before- and Dally won.

"What was ya first clue?" Dally snapped. He took off his T-shirt and jeans, starting to change into a ratty pair of pajama pants. He noticed Darry staring at him. "Why the fuck are ya starin' at me?" Darry stalled a second or two as Dally pulled up his pants.

"You're real skinny, Dal," Darry noticed. "Are you all right?"

Dally swore as his fingers touched the hot lightbulb, turning off the lamp. He carefully laid down in the bed, trying to take up as little space possible, teetering on the edge of the mattress. "Yeah, well, time in the cooler does that to ya." Darry had nearly forgotten that Dally had gotten out of the cooler recently. He nodded.

"Hey, Dallas," Darry said. "I've been meaning to ask you... do you really want to die?"

"Who gave you the right to ask me that?" Dally said. After a moment's pause in which all you could hear was heavy breathing in the dark, Dally admitted, "Shit, I don't know. Well, yeah." Darry didn't answer, and Dally shifted uncomfortably. There was a crash, and a loud "Dammit!" from the younger boy as he toppled off the bed.

Dally groaned and got up off the ground, rubbing his back. He laid back on that small strip of bed, not wanting to make skin contact with Darry. Just as he was about to fall again, Darry grabbed him with one large arm and kept him on the bed.

"Jesus, if you want to die, do it some other time and way," Darry said. "I'm trying to sleep." The words hurt Dally more that they should have. Did Darry really not care if he was dead or alive?

Suddenly, Dally was pulled closer to the center of the bed by Darry's large arms. "C'mere, kid," he said. Dally was literally dragged across the bed. He was pressed up against Darry. The larger boy was kind of curled over him like a shield. His skin was hot, and Dallas's shivering body got warmer. Just that gesture of kindness on Darry's part made Dally feel bad about wanting to hit him. He _had _let a possibly suicidal rapist murderer into his house. That had to count for something.

"Darry?" Dally asked quietly, thinking of something.

"What?" asked Darry's voice from somewhere near his head.

"Can you think of fifteen good things in the world?" Dally asked. He felt Darry laugh quietly into his hair.

"Dal, you have to do your own work," Darry said.

"But your good things'd be different from mine," Dally pointed out.

"Uh... let's see," said Darry. "One: my brothers. Two: my friends -including you, Dal. Three: I have a good job that I like. Four: I've got a home. Five: I don't have a lot of money, but I have enough. Six: I have food. Seven: I have water. Eight: I'm not dead. Nine: I'm healthy. Ten: I'm stable. Eleven: I still have never been in jail. Twelve: I like myself. Thirteen: I got past high school, and I'm not dumb. Fourteen: There's a good amount of people that like me, more than the people that hate me. Fifteen: According to the boss, I'm going to get promoted, and then I'll get more money."

Dally glared at the wall. "How'd ya think of all that? That's crazy. I can't think of anything but Johnny, and I can't have dead people on my list."

"C'mon, he couldn't have been all you cared about," Darry said. The whole conversation felt weird. For once, Dally wasn't the one in charge. He was the weak one. The younger one. The kid.

"Well, he was," Dally sighed. "He wasn't all... corrupted, like the rest of us. I kinda felt like I could give him a better life that I'd had." Silence. "He was such a good kid."

"He sure was," Darry said. "Goodnight, Dally."

"'Night," Dally muttered, and relaxed into the mattress. Lying there with Darry, he almost felt like he had an older brother.

* * *

About four in the morning, a shrill scream pierced the air. Darry sat bolt upright and ran out of the room, yelling: "Ponyboy? Pony?" Dally fell off the bed again and smacked his head against the nightstand. He swore under his breath as he got up. The screaming had become screaming and crying. It sounded like someone was being murdered. Goosebumps popped up on Dally's bare arms.

"What's goin' on?" he asked as he ran in the direction of the screams- Ponyboy and Sodapop's room.

Ponyboy was lying on the wooden floor, screaming and sobbing. His sheets were tangled around him, and his face was just as white as them. Soda was hugging Pony, trying to calm him down. Darry was kneeling next to him. "Pony? Are you all right? Say something."

Dallas awkwardly edged away from the doorframe. This was kind of a Curtis thing, he figured. He remembered the two older brothers talking about nightmares or something Pony had. Dally leaned up against the wall.

Unfortunately, Ponyboy saw him. "Dally?" his voice asked. The towheaded greaser remembered when his voice sounded like that, and his heart softened just a little bit. He had no choice but to walk into the room.

"Maybe you can talk to him," Soda hissed to Dally. "I think it's about Johnny." Great. Dally's personal area of expertise- Johnny Cade.

"Fine," Dally said. Darry and Soda must've trusted him, because they left the room. Dally walked nearer to Pony.

"Hey... kid," Dally said. "Ponyboy." Shit. Dally was never insecure around anyone but young kids? Why?

"What?" asked Ponyboy, sniffling. Dally sat down next to him and stretched his legs.

"Listen, kid..." said Dally, about to try to comfort Ponyboy. Then he changed his mind. He hated being comforted himself, so why should he try to do it? "Would ya be a buddy and let me tell ya somethin'?"

"Sure, Dal," said Ponyboy, wiping his nose and leaning against the bed. He looked so small and young, sitting there crying. Dally didn't want to be rude and cold to him. He seemed almost like a younger Johnny for a second.

"Well, Pony, here's the thing. At the... funeral, when I said, 'stay gold', I really had no clue what I was saying. Can ya tell me what it means?" Dally asked him. He figured maybe it'd distract Pony, make him feel better.

"It's from a poem by Robert Frost," Ponyboy said.

"Who's he?" Dally asked dumbly, trying to flatten down his hair. He felt stupid. A kid three years younger than him was so much smarter than him.

"A poet," Pony said. Thankfully, he didn't say anything about Dally not knowing that. "Wanna hear it?" Dally shrugged. At least Pony was feeling better. "Here goes- 'Nature's first green is gold. Her hardest hue to hold. Her early leaf's a flower. But only so an hour. Then leaf subsides to leaf. So Eden sank down to grief. So dawn goes down to day. Nothing gold can stay'."

Dally was quiet, thinking. He couldn't wrap his mind around the meaning of that poem. He didn't even know what subsides meant.

"I told it to Johnny when we were at the church," Pony said. "We were watching the sunset." Ponyboy jumped a bit, as if remembering something. "By the way... here." He scooted toward his nightstand and handed Dally a paperback copy of _Gone With the Wind_.

"Whadda I do with it?" Dally asked. Pony flipped open the cover. Someone had wrote all over it.

Dally's eyes strained as he read Johnny's farewell note. "'There's still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don't think he knows,'" Dallas whispered as he read it. His blood chilled. Good in the world. The very thing his therapist wanted him to look for. Dally stared at the book in a daze.

"I miss him a lot," Pony admitted from Dally's side. Dally nodded numbly. Ponyboy came closer to him. "You know what, Dally? In this book, there's some old-time Southern gentlemen. They were really charming and good, and they were chivalrous. And the whole time when I was reading it to Johnny, he kept telling me that those Southern gentlemen reminded him of you." A bit of pain pierced Dally's heart like a needle.

"I ain't any of those things," Dally said. "Maybe he was just hopin' I'd turn out like that someday." After a few minutes of silence, Dally admitted, "I miss him too, Ponyboy."

"I know you do," Pony said simply. Of course he did. Why else would Dally nearly kill himself if he didn't miss Johnny so much?

Dally's mind was off on another path. "Hey, kid. This is gonna sound funny, but are ya scared 'a me?" He had been noticing things. When Pony and Johnny had showed up at Buck's after killing that Soc, Pony flinched when he saw Dally. And he looked at him all weird when Dallas said that he had started carrying a heater.

Ponyboy was quiet. "Um... well, I guess I kinda am," he admitted. Dally sighed and nodded.

"You gotta right ta be," he said. "I ain't holdin' it against ya. I just wanted ta know." Really, Dally was wondering if Johnny was scared of him. He knew that he _used _to be scared shitless, back when Dally had just arrived at Tulsa. Was it just Pony who was scared of him, or was Johnny secretly freaked out too?

"I'm writing a story," Pony said out of nowhere. Dally looked over at the kid. "It's about this whole mess." Dally's eyebrows shot up into his hair.

"Holy shit, Pony, you're gonna get us all in jail, and me in the chair," he said, alarmed.

"It's for school," Ponyboy said needlessly. "And I'll leave some stuff out." Dally nodded, wishing he had a cigarette. He didn't know if he should leave Ponyboy alone.

"That's cool," Dally said. "Shame I can barely read." It could've been a joke, but the tone of his voice didn't make it one.

As he got up and walked out of the room, all he was thinking about was how, maybe, he wasn't the only one that was grieving.


	10. Fighting in the Gang

**Thanks for reading! Nice new chapter for you all. :) **

**The flashback is actually right before the actual chapter starts. And yes, it is totally, very necessary. Another plot twist. Yay. **

**SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME IF THIS GETS CONFUSING. **

**Warning: Sexual references in the flashback. **

* * *

"I'm friends with the monster that's under my bed  
Get along with the voices inside of my head  
You're trying to save me, stop holding your breath  
And you think I'm crazy, yeah, you think I'm crazy..."

-from "The Monster" by Eminem

* * *

_"Y'want a drink, Winston?" asked Buck. He motioned the the wide array of bottles he had spread out and was selling. "I'll give it to you free, even."_

_"Ah, why not?" said Dally, walking toward him. "I'll take any liquor you got."_

_"Someone's not happy," Buck noted, handing him a cup. "Here ya go, bud." Dally swigged back the whole cup, and stuck his hand out for a refill a few seconds later._

_"Yeah, well, it's not every day your friend dies," he said, the effects of the liquor already starting. "Shit, what did ya put in this? Gotta be the strongest I've ever had." Buck winked, grinning roguishly at his friend. _

_"Your friend died?" asked Buck, taking a gulp of beer, purposely avoiding Dallas's question. Buck and him walked toward a quiet corner in the room. "Which one?"_

_"One 'a the youngest," Dally said. "Name was Johnny Cade." Buck nodded and slapped his partner on the back in what probably was intended as a nice gesture. All it really did was make Dally choke on his drink. _

_"Too bad, Dal," Buck said. "What I really heard 'bout, though, was the rape charge. A Soc? Was that really necessary?" Dally managed a smile, the drink making him feel better. _

_"Fuck yeah it was," he said. "If you'd seen 'er you'd rape her too." The two guys enjoyed a good laugh together. Dallas checked out the broads in the party. There was a lot of them, and quite a few good-looking ones. "Now, if ya don' mind, I'm gonna go get laid." _

_"Whoa, whoa, Mister Rapist," Buck said jokingly. "If you get another charge in this house, I get half the shit in your will." _

_"We'll go in the fuckin' shed then," Dally said. "And good luck gettin' stuff in my will. I ain't got shit ta call my own. Shoplifted, man." On that note, he chugged down the rest of his drink, burped, and went to go get a broad. _

_He had struck lucky in minutes. One of the prettiest broads there, a girl with fluffy blonde hair and curves, had found Dally. After some dirty talk on Dally's part and taunting on the girl's part, they were already stripping each other. Dally felt the drink making his head whirl in the most pleasant way. He tore off the girl's dress and pressed her against the wall, fucking her like he wished he could fuck Cherry. He was more sensible though, and used a condom. Dally didn't want a kid. _

_Dally had just finished getting a pretty good blowjob from the girl when he got kicked out._

_"You need to leave, Dal," Buck told him breathlessly. "Someone called the fuzz on us, better get out." Dally pulled up his boxers and his pants quickly and stumbled out of the room. He was feeling horny and violent as hell, and wished he could stick around longer. But he ran out the back door anyway. _

_He had a good idea- or was it a bad idea? He couldn't tell the difference, but it was an idea. He should go to Johnny's grave. He didn't know why, but he was going to go, dammit. Dally ran around town, toward the cemetery. _

_Kinda creepy, Dally thought. All dark and everything. _

_He searched for Johnnycake's headstone, and found it in a few minutes. _

_'Johnny Cade' it read. '1952-1967. Nothing Gold Can Stay'. Dally seemed to recall Ponyboy explaining the whole 'nothing gold can stay' thing to him, but he couldn't remember what it meant now. Oh well, who the hell cared anyway?_

_Dally sat down on the ground next to Johnny's grave. "Johnny," he said quietly, talking to no one. "I miss you so fuckin' much it ain't funny." He could almost feel Johnny lying next to him- even though there was a six foot difference in their depth. "Ya know, Johnnykid, I thought I was gonna lose you that day of the fire. I knew it. I was right." Laughter bubbled up in Dally's throat. "Ain't that a riot? I guessed right. Anyway, Johnnycake, I'm real worried right now, 'cause I don't think no one cares about me." _

_He lay there, talking to the grave, all his worries and burdens pouring out of his mouth. He didn't know that there were people listening. And they weren't the fuzz, or the greasers, or any other street gang. They were the Socs, laughing quietly as Dally grieved aloud._

* * *

Darry was panicking. Dallas wasn't back at the Curtis house after his therapy session. They had tried calling the therapist, the Shepard family, and Buck. The therapist didn't know anything. Angela Shepard answered the phone and had no idea what was going on. Buck wouldn't pick up.

"He's not home by now, he's going to get arrested," Darry said. "Where the fuck is he?"

"Stop swearing, Darry," Sodapop said. "Don't worry. Dally told me he was going to a party at Buck's." Just then, the sound of sirens echoed across the greasers' side of Tulsa. Soda amended his former statement about swear words by saying, "Oh, shit." Ponyboy ambled into the room, shivering.

"What's wrong?" he asked them.

"Dal's gone off somewhere," Darry said. "Shit, shit shit!" he added as he heard more sirens. Ponyboy ran to the door as Darry resignedly started to dial the police. But all of a sudden- the sirens stopped. It was almost eerily quiet.

"Darry, he's right here!" Pony shouted. "He's with the fuzz." Darry slammed down the phone, swore, and ran to the door.

Sure enough, there was a knock on the door. Ponyboy opened it, revealing Dally, who was surrounded by about eight or so cops. The strong stench of alcohol hit the Curtis boys as soon as the door opened. The fuzz were standing up straight and sober. To the dread of everyone, they realized it was Dally who had been drinking.

"What's the problem, officers?" Darry asked, trying not to let his anger show. He was going to kill Dally! Didn't he remember drinking was what made Johnnycake's parents beat him?

"Well, we were patrolling the streets, and we found this young man," said a cop.

"What was he doing?" asked Darry. He shot Dally a glance that said, _if you raped someone else, I'm going to KILL you_. Dally wasn't even looking. He was barely standing up, even: he was slouching, and he looked pale.

"Oh, pretty much nothing," the cop told him. "He was in the cemetery, someone tipped us off that he'd be there. We noticed he looked very drunk, so we pulled over and offered him a ride."

"That's why I was walkin', see?" Dally explained drunkenly. "Someone put liquor in my drink. So I figured, I had better walk home, 'cause if I get in any trouble with the fuzz I'm goin' ta the chair, and Lord knows how much I'd hate that." He said the last bit sarcastically. Sodapop ground his teeth. If he hated one thing, it was drunks.

"Yeah, whatever," said another cop. "We know he's seventeen and therefore underage. We drove him here, because we had the directions."

"How are you going to punish him?" Darry asked somewhat nervously.

"Due to his... circumstances, with someone getting him drunk forcedly, we're not going to. You can do that yourself," said the first cop, laughing. "Have a good night with this one." As the police left, Dally crumpled to the wooden porch's floor. He hadn't blacked out, his knees had just buckled.

"Get up, Dallas," Darry said sternly. Dally's head spun like white walls when he did, but he managed to get to his feet. "Come on in." He lead Dally into the house and sat him down on the couch.

"Well, just don't sit on me," muttered Steve, who was evidently kicked out of his house again. "Holy shit Dal, whaddya do?"

Dally's fingers raked through his hair, making it stand up even more. He didn't answer Steve.

"Dallas fucking Winston," Darry shouted. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"He wasn't," Steve said from the couch. He was probably trying to be funny, but it was the truth, and sometimes the truth just isn't funny.

"Exactly!" Sodapop said, evidently joining in lecturing. "What Steve said!" Dally didn't look the slightest bit guilty, but then again, you sometimes couldn't tell with him.

"Did you get drunk or did someone spike your drink?" Darry asked wearily, sitting down in a chair across from Dally's couch. "Tell us that at least."

"Got drunk," Dallas muttered. He held handfuls of hair in his hands and groaned like he wanted to tear it all out.

"Goddammit, Dal! Do you really want to turn out like Johnny's parents?" asked Darry. Dally glared at him and let go of his hair, which spiked up all over his head now.

"I ain't gonna! I'm better than that! No, I'm worse than that..." he said. "I'm the worst fuckin' person in the world, so you might as well just take me back ta the fuzz."

"Stop with the self-pity," Darry said. Ponyboy watched, wide-eyed. "_Why_ did you get drunk?" Dally hated 'why'-s. Why did you rape her? Why do you want to die? Why did Johnny die? Why are you in the cooler? Why are you such a bad person?

"I don't wanna talk 'bout it," Dally groaned.

"Well, you have to," Steve told him, which earned him an elbow to the face. "Ow! Shit."

"Fine. Me and Dallas are going to go talk," Darry announced. He grabbed Dally's arm and hauled him up off the couch. Dally didn't struggle, just limply walked with him until they got to Darry's room.

Dally's head was pounding, and he felt sicker than he ever had been. He wasn't even hungover yet, and he already felt sick! This had to be an all-time low for him. He felt like he was spinning around in a white-colored room, everything blurring together and looking the same to him. He knew he was going into Darry's room. He was dumped onto the floor near the bed.

"Dal," Darry said. "Drinking's not going to help." Dally looked up at him. "I know you feel terrible right now, and you're depressed, but it's not gonna get you anywhere." Dally stared dully at his hands.

"I know it ain't gonna help," Dally said. His hands were tapping again. He hated when people lectured him.

"What did you do, fuck someone?" Darry continued. "Dal, you have to stop this." He wasn't even ready when Dally's fist hit him. With a loud "HEY!" they both tumbled off the bed, Dally punching and kicking every inch of Darry he could reach. Darry couldn't just let himself get hit, so he reluctantly fought back. He honestly didn't want to hurt the younger greaser, but it wasn't him that was drunk and a rapist.

"For your fuckin' information!" Dally yelled as he punched Darry in the face. "I did fuck someone, but she fuckin' wanted it!" Darry hit him hard in the chest, and Dally was sprawled on the floor.

"That's what all of you rapists say, isn't it? 'Oh, they wanted it'?" Darry yelled back. He got a faceful of Dally's fist, and Darry kicked Dally back. Dally had his mouth open, ready to shout back, and his jaws were slammed shut, making a bloody hole in his tongue. He spit blood on the floor and looked kind of stunned. Darry took the time to slug him in the stomach.

Screams came from the doorway: Steve, Pony, and Soda watching the fight. "Stop it!" Pony wailed.

"IT'S NOT LIKE THAT!" Dally howled back at Darry, ignoring Ponyboy. He grabbed the larger boy and shoved him into the wall, kicking him mercilessly. Blood dripped all over the floor. "Oh God, I got issues don't I..." he muttered, before passing out on the floor.

Darry threw up his hands. "Are you kidding me?" he asked, getting up. "Are you fuckin' kidding me?"

"You're scaring Ponyboy," Soda pointed out. He treated Ponyboy like a little kid, covering his eyes like his life was a scary movie he shouldn't be watching. "Oh God, Darry, what are we gonna do?" he asked all panicky.

"We're kicking him out," Darry said firmly. "He can go to Buck's for all I care. Nah, he can go to hell for all I care!"

"Poor Dally," said a small voice from the doorframe. Darry looked up and saw Ponyboy looking sad.

"Poor fucking_ Dally_?" Darry snapped. "Who just got beat up?" Darry motioned to his blackened face.

"Dallas did," pointed out Ponyboy. "You're stronger than him." And it was true. The fight wasn't fair, Darry was so much more muscular than Dally. Darry groaned and said something so quietly no one heard. He stormed out of the room.

Dally laid motionless on the floor, blood staining the wood under him.

Soda let out a groan. "We don't need our gang fightin', on top of everything..."


	11. So Close to Suicide

**I hope people are reading and enjoying! **

**Dally's terrible spelling strikes again in the flashback. Johnny is teaching him how to write correctly, and they get a bit off-topic. ...not in that way.**

* * *

"Tap into thoughts  
Blacker and darker than anything imaginable  
Here goes a wild stab in the dark..."

-from "Bad Guy" by Eminem

* * *

_"See, Dally," Johnny said. "Right there, that's spelled wrong." He pointed down at the sheet of paper Dallas was writing on while shivering in his jean jacket. "It's not 'I want t bed , last nite', it should be 'I went to bed last night'." The older boy glared down at the paper._

_"I never went to school, ya know, Johnnycake," Dally said. "I learned from my gang how t'write. I ain't a pro." Johnny smiled and sat down on the steps of the Curtis house next to his friend. Johnny's small warm figure scooted closer. _

_"You need to know how to, though," Johnny said. "It'd be terrible not knowing how, and dying that way." Dally thought about it. Damn, Johnny was right. What if Dally had died in New York, dumb and illiterate? The thought made him confused. Would it be like he was no one, if he died and he didn't know how to read or write? He'd be walking down the streets with his gang, getting lost because he couldn't read the street signs. _

_Then Dally thought of something else. "Hey, Johnny? I got a question for ya." He ran his tongue over his dry, chapped lips, looking out at the snowy street. It was Christmas Day, he realized, watching adults caroling. He'd never celebrated Christmas. He was an atheist. He'd never been religious, but what really made it true was when every night Dally prayed in jail for Peter to stop hurting him. He did, but that was when Dally was bailed out of jail. And the money was from the government, because of the Socs shooting Mr. and Mrs. Curtis. Maybe God granted his prayer, but there was loopholes..._

_"What is it?" Johnny asked him quietly, snapping Dally out of his reverie. _

_"Why d'ya think about dyin' so much?" he asked the dark-haired greaser. The question stunned Johnny. Why was Dally suddenly wanting to know that?_

_"It's not the most pleasant thing, Dal..." Johnny started. _

_"Aw, you can tell little 'ol Dallas, right?" Dally said, with a grin that would have better suited Two-Bit. Johnny grinned back at him, but he still didn't look truly happy._

_"'Cause I _want_ to die," Johnny told him. "I keep thinkin', if my old man beats me one more time, I'm going to go and kill myself." This time Dally was shocked into silence. He'd always just figured Johnny had a death in the family and was obsessing over it, or something. Not that Johnny wanted to commit suicide. _

_"Jesus, kid," Dally said. "It can't be that bad, right?" But he knew that it was 'that bad'. Dally knew what it felt like to not be wanted, and it was a feeling that used to make him want to off himself too. "Never mind, actually. I get that way sometimes too." He sighed, and a puff of visible air came from his mouth. _

_"Write it down," Johnny said suddenly. "Write down the times when you've wanted to... you know, die." Johnny reached over and took the piece of paper off of Dally's lap. He tore it in half. "I will too." _

_Dally felt a surge of doubt. "Gee, I dunno, kid. My list might just take up too much space."_

_"Write small" was all Johnny said as he started writing. _

_It turned out, their lists weren't equal length. They used up the same amount of paper, though.  
_

_Johnny had written, in huge letters: When I get beat. That took up the first side. The second side of the paper read, 'when I know no one wants me alive'._

_Dally's list took half an hour to write. It was mostly all spelled wrong. The things ranged from, 'When tim shephard broked my ribs' to 'When I rayped someone and they ended up ded'. It was all written small._

_Even though Dally's list was larger, Johnny was more suicidal. When he knows no one wants him alive... that must seem like all the time to him. _

_The two greasers had switched lists. Johnny's face steadily grew redder and redder at Dally's atrocious incidents. 'When I saw this real hot broad and I got a hard on in frunt of everone'. 'When I was pukin my guts out and I was sure I got AIDS but I got tested and I didnt'.  
_

_Dallas's reaction was different to Johnny's. "Hey, Johnnycake," he said slowly, staring down at the paper with furrowed brows. _

_"What?" Johnny said, still embarrassed from reading Dally's list, but trying not to shy away from him. _

_"I want ya alive. A whole lot."_

* * *

"A RESTRAINING ORDER?" bellowed Dally at Dr. Smythe. "What the fuck?" The elderly lady only sighed.

"It was only expected, Dallas. You raped her," she said.

"That's not what I ...shit!" Dally said, burying his head in his arms. A flush crept across his face as he tried to control his temper.

Dr. Smythe had just told him that Sherri Valance had put a restraining order on Dally. Naturally, he wasn't taking kindly to it.

"What do you mean, then?" Dr. Smythe asked him gently. Over the few therapy sessions they had had, she had come to understand both his slang and his occasional lack of words. Dally looked up with fiery eyes at her like he felt like knifing her.

"I mean," Dally spat. "I expected it, but..." He couldn't find words to describe his feelings, so he just let out muffled scream and punched the desk. His fist stung, but he didn't care.

"But you can't accept it," Dr. Smythe noted, writing something down. "You wish you hadn't raped her?"

"No, no, no," Dallas said. "I don't know what I'm thinking!" That somehow was much worse than guilt to him.

"All right, we'll continue to talk about that later," said the woman, nodding sympathetically. "How did you feel when Darrel tried to get you out of the house?" 'Tried', because when he went to the police about it they said it was because Dally was drunk. He was staying in the Curtis house, want it or not.

"He's always hated me," Dallas said in a flat tone. "We've never really gotten along, because I'm tuffer than him, and he keeps bein' all emotional." _There I go again!_ Dallas thought miserably. _Trying to act all tuff-hood-that-don't-got-no-heart. _"Never mind," he said. "Just ignore me and this'll go a hell of all lot faster."

Dr. Smythe raised her white eyebrows. "I'm afraid I have to report all of our sessions back to the police department," she told him. "Otherwise that'd be fine with me too." It occurred to him that maybe she hated being here as much as Dally did.

"I felt bad," Dally admitted. "It was my fault, I was drunk. I didn't mean to hit him." Dally sure didn't expect Darry to fight back, either. If he knew that he wouldn't have started the fight. Now he had a split lip, a bruised collarbone and stomach, and a hangover headache. "It's just... I feel like no one knows me. Like no one understands me. Ya know, me and Johnnycake were more alike than we looked. Our parents hated us, we were kinda suicidal."

His head hurt, but he kept rambling on. "He got that I didn't like people. He knew that fuckin' awful feelin' when ya know no one cares if you're alive or dead. But when he was alive I knew that there was one person that cared: he did. And he knew I cared too. Now I'm alone, and I still care about him..."

For the rest of the session, Dallas kept talking about Johnny, him and Johnny. At one point he even grabbed a piece of paper and tried to draw him. It ended up looking twisted and weird. His hair was too spiky in the front, and he looked too sad to be real. Dally kept silent as he drew. Dr. Smythe watched him. He kept drawing, until Johnny sat by a blurry rendition of the Curtis house, and Dally sat next to him.

"Dallas," Dr. Smythe said quietly. "We have five minutes left, and I'd like to see your work. Fifteen good things in the world." She held out a hand as if wanting to collect a paper. Dally brought out his journal reluctantly.

All he had written was the numbers 1-15. There was nothing next to the numbers.

Dr. Smythe sighed. "I knew that might be a difficult assignment for you, Dallas. All right. How about, as you see good things in the world, write them down. When you have fifteen, show me." Dally nodded numbly, staring at the picture of Johnny he had drawn. "And you have a new assignment."

"What is it?" he asked. He hoped it wasn't something like 'apologize to Darry'.

"I want you to write something about Sherri. In her point of view, what you think she was thinking during the rape," said Dally's therapist.

"Can't," he said automatically.

"You can," Dr. Smythe said. Dally knew it would be no use arguing. He took his journal back, tucked the picture of Johnny into it, and left.

* * *

When Dally got back to the Curtis house, it was obvious there was something wrong. For one, it was totally silent. Dally couldn't hear anyone. And there was a fancy car parked outside. A Soc's car, no doubt.

Dally felt his pulse quicken. Oh shit. Had they really broken in? Had they killed everyone? Cautiously, he crept through the house. Where the fuck were they? He walked back into the kitchen after checking the rest of the house, and found a knife. That's when he heard the shouting.

Knocking over a chair, he ran out of the house toward the sound of the noise, which sounded like it was coming from somewhere outside. Dally tripped down the front porch stairs, waving around his knife around wildly as he flailed his arms. He looked around.

The scream came again, from the vacant lot where Dally nearly killed himself. He ran as fast as he could toward it, his blade slicing through the air. He found all three Curtis brothers, shouting at a group of five Socs.

There was an old football tucked under Soda's arm. His other arm was protectively around Ponyboy's shoulders. Ponyboy was shrinking back from the Socs, but still shouting at them. Darry stood tall over all of them, glaring.

"How'd you feel?" Sodapop yelled at the Socs. "What if your best friend died?"

"He did!" one of the Socs reminded him. "And that Cade greaser killed him!" They turned all at the sound of Dally's approaching footsteps.

"Look, there's your crazy friend," said a Soc, laughing and pointing at Dally. Dally promptly spat at him, and walked over to the Curtis brothers.

"Put away the blade, Dal," said Darry quietly.

"I thought you was gettin' jumped," Dally whispered back. "And I don't see anywhere else to put the blade except their necks." Still, he held the knife at his side.

"We were in the cemetery, Winston!" hollered a Soc. "Boy, did you sound fucking hilarious." Dally clenched his fists, but he tried to not let his emotions show.

"So, ya'll were the ones that tipped me off ta the fuzz?" he drawled. "So what? I don't care. An' I was drunk, you sonsabitches." That didn't stop the Socs from having a good laugh at his expense, imitating him talking to Johnny's grave.

"Johnnycake, I miss you so fuckin' much," mocked one of the Socs in a fake-slurred voice.

"Oh, Johnnycake. I knew you were going to die," said another. Dally's face got angrier with every syllable. Both his hands gripped the hilt of the kitchen knife he was holding, and they were turning white.

"Johnnycake, suck my cock. I miss when you do that," said another Soc. "Fuckin' faggot."

All hell broke loose.

Ponyboy's eyes widened, and he backed up really quick as his brothers ran, screaming, toward the Socs. Darry had one of them shoved up against a tree, yelling in his face, "I'LL TEACH YOU TO CALL MY FRIEND A FAGGOT!" Sodapop was yelling wordlessly and just trying to beat the shit out of everyone. Dally slashed around with his knife, so mad he felt like he was going to explode.

A car stopped by them, drove by Steve. Two-Bit jumped out of the back of it. He ran toward them. When he saw the chaos that he had walked into, he sighed and rolled up his sleeves. When a Soc came at him, he got them in a headlock and said, "Whatever you did, you're gonna pay!"

The fight was only stopped when one of a Soc's Dally-inflicted knife wounds wouldn't stop bleeding. The Socs gave the five greasers the middle finger before running off, presumably to get their friend to the ER.

Dally slumped up against the streetlight that hung over the lot, breathing hard. The kitchen knife he was holding was covered in blood. He stared at it, lying on his lap. He closed his eyes, because he had the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach. The feeling he'd gotten right before he'd raped Cherry, minus him being turned on. He felt like he could kill someone and fucking _enjoy _it.

All he could hear was the Soc's voice saying: _"Johnnycake, suck my cock. I miss when you do that." _Goddammit, why was it just so unfair? 'It' meaning life, of course. Why was it like this? If a bluff had a same-sex friend, why did everyone assume he was gay?

"Dally? Dally?" asked a voice, urgently. "Dallas Winston, PUT DOWN THAT KNIFE!" the last words were screamed hoarsely. Without even realizing it, Dally had the knife at his wrists. Startled, Dally dropped the knife on the ground between his legs.

"My God, Dallas," Darry said, his hands shaking as he picked up the knife. "Don't you ever do that again."

"I didn't say that," Dally mumbled. "I just said I missed him..." His head felt like someone was splitting it open.

"We know, Dal," said Steve, who had parked the car. "You'd never say that." He stuck out a hand and hauled Dally to his feet. Dally managed a small smile. But even then it was apparent that the Socs' words had really gotten to him. He looked angry, but like he might cry at the same time.

"Aw, Dal-" Two-Bit said, putting him in a loose, friendly headlock. "You just stick with us, buddy." Dally couldn't see him, but Two-Bit gave the rest of the gang a concerned glance. He let Dally go and gave him a forced grin.

"Listen," Darry said firmly to Dally as they walked back to the Curtis house. "I'm really sorry for saying that stuff to you. I didn't mean it, I was just angry." He put an arm around him. The look on his face told Dally that while he did forgive him, he still felt sorry for him. Dally hated that.

"Same here," Dally said. "Forgiven? I'm already being punished by this goddamn hangover." He tried to make a joke, but it just didn't work. His voice was still angry.

"Forgiven," Darry said.

When he fell asleep, Dally dreamed of creeping into the house of Soc that said those disgusting words and slaughtering him.


	12. A Dose Of His Medicine

**Me and my plot twists, I can't get enough of them. **

**Warning! This chapter contains a (hopefully) implicit rape scene. **

**This flashback is technically not a flashback, it's actually a Cherry-centric little snippet.**

* * *

"I guess we are who we are  
Headlights shining in the dark night, I drive on  
Maybe we took this too far..."

-from "Headlights" by Eminem

* * *

_Thank God she wasn't pregnant._

_Having Dallas Winston's kid would be hell, pure hell. Cherry couldn't even imagine how terrible it would be. Just being pregnant sounded bad enough, but the dad, a hood that raped her? That would just be terrible._

_Cherry sat on her porch, watching the sunset, thinking about this. She wondered if Ponyboy was watching the sunset, too. She felt a quiver of disgust as she thought of Dallas seeing the same sunset. _

_She heard the sound of a car speeding down the road, and focused on it. Her eyes widened as she saw five of her friends, all looking like they'd just gotten the shit beaten out of them. She nearly screamed when she saw that one of them was bleeding in the arm heavily. _

_"What happened?" she asked, running down her porch steps, her red hair flaring out behind her. _

_"We decided to go to that little shit's house that picked you up," said one of them, a stocky guy named Ryan. "They were out in the lot by their house, him and his brothers. We mentioned seeing their crazy friend at the cemetery-"_

_"They've got a crazy friend?" asked Cherry, clueless. The Socs laughed._

_"You really forgot the guy that raped you? Yeah, that crazy friend," said another guy. "We heard he was at a party yesterday, and we heard their music from a block away. We called the police on them and followed that Winston guy around a while, just in case he was gonna rape someone else." _

_Cherry braced herself for the 'and then he saw us and knifed us', but it didn't come._

_"He was really drunk," said Ryan, as the rest of his friends got the bleeding guy inside Cherry's house. "He went to the cemetery, to that one dead grease's grave. He started talking to him like he was alive. You should've seen it, it was funny as hell."_

_"So how'd you get beat up?" asked Cherry, leaning up against the rail._

_"Well, we tipped off the police again, and they came and picked him up for underage drinking. Apparently he didn't get in too much trouble over it, though," Ryan told her. Cherry secretly wished that Dally was in trouble. She wanted him to pay for what he had done to her, even though she knew it was because it was he was so twisted. "That was yesterday, so today we go and tease the Curtis guys. Then, all of a sudden, guess who comes running up?"_

_"The police," Cherry hoped. "And then they arrested the Curtis brothers." Ryan laughed, playing with a strand of her hair. Cherry enjoyed the feeling of his soft breath on her neck, but for some reason, she was reminded chillingly of Dallas flirting with her. She shivered, and hoped that Ryan didn't see her doing that. After all, what kind of Soc is scared of a greaser? Even if he was a crazy, raping, murdering greaser..._

_"I sure wish," he said. "Nope, there comes Winston himself, screamin' and waving a knife. We start making fun of him talking to a gravestone, you know, all in good fun. Then Caspar, the bleeding guy, has to go and call him a fag. They totally attacked us, and Winston stuck a knife in him." _

_"Wow," Cherry said in her bored-Soc-that-laughs-at-danger voice. Inside, she cringed, almost seeing the deranged but melancholy look in Dally's eyes. "You ran?"_

_"'Course we did, it would've been crazy to stick around after he pulled a blade, and after what happened with Bob," Ryan said. "He looked pretty pissed."_

_Cherry, who had seen and felt the full force of Dallas's anger, knew Ryan could only imagine. _

* * *

The room was still pitch-black dark when Dally woke up. He had no clue why he was even awake at that time in the night.

Squinting at the clock, he realized it was two in the morning. Damn. He should just go to sleep again, but for some reason it was like someone had pried his eyelids open and they wouldn't close. He laid on his back, wide awake, for a few minutes before realizing trying to sleep was pointless.

Dally got up out of bed quietly, trying not to disturb Darry's sleeping form. He shucked off his pajama pants and pulled on some jeans, a shirt, and his favorite leather jacket. He put on his shoes and silently walked out of the room. Darry didn't even realize he was gone.

When Dally reached the kitchen, he grabbed another knife, and strolled right out the door.

The streets were cold and streetlight-lit in the greaser's side. Dally had his hands stuffed inside his pockets, and he really wished he had a heater with him, as he walked. He passed Buck's place, which was hosting another loud party. He walked by there quickly, hoping no one could see him.

Dally jaywalked the street and ran toward the cemetery again. He didn't see anyone following him, but you never knew. He wielded his knife as he walked under the shade of the sprawling trees in the funeral grounds. Sober and depressed, it was scary in there. Like a shadow was always over the graves, like the dark cloud that always was over Dally's head.

He knew he shouldn't be in the cemetery, especially after what happened last night. But he needed to get stuff off his chest. Talking to Johnnycake's grave was the best way for him to do that, even though he knew the dead boy couldn't hear him. He couldn't sleep, and he knew why. Dally was just too heartsore.

"Johnnycake," Dally said aloud, sitting next to Johnny Cade's grave. "I don't think I ever felt this fucked up." He sighed, and laid down. He stared at the star-sprinkled sky that was partially blocked by tree leaves.

He wished Johnny could answer. He didn't even know what he would say. Maybe he'd just nod. Maybe he'd sit next to him and they'd stare aimlessly together. Goddamn, he wished...

"I can't think of no reasons to live," he said. "And the other evenin', I near slit my wrists. I didn't even know I was gonna. God, I'm just scared of _myself _now." Dally stared at the sky, hoping that Johnny was just in a coma. That he was still hidden in Windrixville and the burial was fake. But reality was the hardest thing to face: Johnny really was dead. "And Johnny, the Socs think I liked you as more than a friend. I didn't. Not at all, you was just the only one who knew me."

He laid there until he thought he could feel Johnny's small body next to him and he fell asleep there.

* * *

"Stick him harder."

"Nah, he wants it."

"Yeah, didn't you hear he wants to commit suicide?"

"Let's see if he likes this."

"Oh shit."

Dally heard a bunch of voices as he was waking up. He opened his eyes, and tried to scream. He couldn't- there was a gag in his mouth and a knife at his throat.

His _own _knife.

"How are you doing this fine morning?" asked a sarcastic voice. Dally saw a Soc leaning over him, grinning wickedly. Dally narrowed his eyes and glared.

Oh glory. He had about as much street smarts as the toughest JD to exist, but right then he was acting as bad as Ponyboy!

There was a painful cramp in Dallas's neck. He reached up and realized it was because he was lying on his stomach with his head turned sideways. He tried to roll over, but something was keeping him from doing that. He saw that there was blood on the grass next to him. He was too busy wondering where the blood came from to see what the Socs were doing.

He felt someone yanking down his pants and his boxers. Dally realized what the Socs were about to do right before they did it. One of them apparently was up right behind him, because just then something happened he hoped he'd never feel.

Dally's fingers raked into the dewy grass as the Soc raped him.

He felt tears running down his screwed-up face as he screamed into the gag. His clenched fists pounded the ground. Eventually he realized it was no good. He was totally vulnerable. Dally was getting a taste of his own medicine again, and it still tasted bitter as hell.

"Stop it!" said a voice that sounded familiar. "The grease looks like he's gonna puke!" Dally definitely felt like he was going to puke. His body was positioned, and he thrashed around, desperately trying to get his gag off.

So many thoughts went through his mind. Dr. Smythe's assignment to write something about Cherry's feelings when Dally raped her. Dally's time he spent in the double cell with that pedophile, Peter. Last night's fuck session with that random broad. Johnny rubbing his back as he moaned and groaned about going to hell.

"Randy, it's called payback," snarled the Soc that was raping Dally, between heavy breaths. "He's the one that practically killed Caspar!" Dally let out such a loud scream it was heard obviously even through his gag. Sweat streamed down his face.

His arm whacked against something hard and marble. Johnnycake's grave. _That's karma for you,_ Dally thought, punching the ground furiously, trying to dull away the pain. _Karma literally fucking me up the ass just when I thought my life couldn't get any worse. __  
_

Soon, it was over. Poor Dally was limp and crying his eyes out on the ground. He hated himself for crying, but everything just hurt so much. His dirty fingers grabbed Johnny's headstone and held onto it like it was a life preserver.

"So now we're all even," said a Soc, crouching next to him. "We don't snitch to the police about what you did to our friend -who, by the way, passed out from blood loss and nearly _died_- and you don't snitch to the police about this." Dally nodded, motioning at his gag for the Socs to take it off.

"Fine, we'll take off the stupid gag," said the Soc. "If you scream, we'll stick you with the knife again." Dally realized where the blood was coming from- he had been stabbed in the side, but not very deep. As they undid the gag, his crying ceased. As soon as he could move fully, he pulled his pants on and rolled over onto his back. He sat up.

"I ain't sayin' nothin' ta the fuzz," Dallas said shakily. "I swear it on... on Johnnycake's grave." He hesitantly patted the top of the headstone.

"It's three in the morning. Better walk on home, _greaser_," snapped one of the Socs. Dally didn't know which one had raped him, but the Soc that had just spoken was buckling his pants. He had a pretty good idea who it was.

The word 'greaser' made Dally feel like his heart was imploding. Normally he didn't let the Socs' insults hurt him, but now, it made him feel like shit. Like no one cared about him. And he knew it was true, that the only person that cared was buried right under him.

One of the Socs spit a wad of phlegm at Dallas's face. He wiped it off with hands that trembled in rage.

"You coming, Randy?" asked someone, as the Socs walked out of the cemetery.

"Nah, I'll make sure he doesn't run for the police," one of the Socs said, walking toward Dally. He recognized the Soc- it was Randy Adderson, the one that convinced the fuzz not to kill him, the one that showed up at Johnny's funeral.

The Socs laughed cruelly as they walked away, leaving Dally and Randy alone.

When they had driven away, Randy sat down on a bench near Dally. "Oh God," he said. "I didn't plan this at all, Dallas, I promise, I swear, I didn't-"

"I know!" Dally said. He couldn't stand to get pity. His whole body ached as he shoved himself to his feet. "It's my own fault for comin' out here." Dally collapsed on the bench next to Randy.

"It's not your fault at all!" Randy argued. "They were just drunk and looking for payback."

"They weren't drunk," Dally said flatly. "Believe me, I saw 'em up close and they sure as hell weren't crocked, not a bit." His voice was rough and scratchy from the gag.

"I tried to stop them," Randy said pointlessly.

"And it didn't work. Good for you," said the greaser bitterly. "Like they said, we're even. They ain't even supposed to be on our territory anyway." He realized he was talking to Randy like he wasn't a Soc.

"How do you feel?" Randy asked. He sounded like Dr. Smythe for some reason. He looked, concerned, at Dally, who looked like he'd been through hell.

"Like someone just ass-raped me," Dallas growled. "Wait, never mind, they fuckin' just did." He stared at the disgusting patch of grass next to Johnny's grave. "Not to mention I want to fuckin' strangle every Soc in Tulsa." Randy scooted away from him, and Dally grinned in spite of himself. It was a rueful grin.

"Think you can make it back to your house?" Randy offered. "I'll help you if you want." Dally let out a muffled wail of pain as he stood up.

"Ya got a wheelchair?" he asked. "'Cause I dunno if I can walk." Well, he could walk, but it really, really hurt. Dally realized with dread that the Socs had taken the Curtis family's kitchen knife with them. "Shit," he muttered under his breath. Now Darry would know he had left, and they'd probably have another fight. Louder he said, "Fine, let's go."

Silently, the Soc and the greaser walked together to the Curtis house. The streets were dark as ever, and they got more than one weird look from partygoers. Dally was limping obviously, and Randy asked him if he was okay every few yards.

"Whaddaya think?" Dally said angrily each time he asked.

Finally, they ended up at the Curtis house. Dally hobbled up the stairs and onto the porch. He saw Randy, staring up at him from the sidewalk. "Hey, uh, Randy?"

"Hm?" asked the Soc awkwardly.

"Thanks," Dally said. "Really. I guess I get that ya couldn't stop 'em. But thanks for tryin'." With that, Dallas stumbled through the door and into the kitchen. The absence of one of the knives made him shudder. He walked, slouching, into Darry's bedroom. Fortunately, the roofer was fast asleep, snoring, and sprawled out on his bed.

Dally changed back into his pajama pants, to avert any more suspicion. If he climbed into the bed, Darry'd probably wake up. So he just lay down on the floor.

He couldn't sleep for the rest of the night, but he knew that as soon as Darry woke up, he'd tell him what happened.


	13. Switchblades and Pity

**Hope you like this chapter. :)**

* * *

"Perfect time to have some remorse to show for your sin  
No, it's hopeless, I'm the denial that you're hopelessly in  
When they say all of this is approaching its end  
But you refuse to believe that it's over, here we go all over again..."

-from "Bad Guy" by Eminem

* * *

_Dally's shoplifted switchblade glinted, reflecting the streetlights. He stalked furiously down the street. He was furious that the redheaded broad had just thrown a soda at him. Was he really that bad at dirty-talking? _

_His eyes lit up when he saw a familiar battered red truck. It was his friend Tim Shepard's. Dallas walked toward it. There was no one in the truck, though, so he sat in the truck bed. The greaser lit a cigarette and started smoking it. He glared out at the dark night, wishing that he wasn't such a dickhead. _

_What did he expect, after all? For that broad to not realize who he was? For her to ignore his terrible rap sheet? Was she supposed to be attracted to him because _he_ thought she would be real good in bed? She was a fucking Soc! Damn, he must've been really stupid. _

_He blew smoke into the air of the street. He could've been in the Nightly Double, checking out broads and spending time with Johnnycake! God, he hoped that the kid was okay. If any Socs showed up, he'd have no one to shield him. Dallas remembered the way his face looked after those Socs jumped him. That boy had really been hurt too much. He didn't deserve any of it._

_The blond jumped down from the truck bed and examined the blade in his hand. He had stolen it only minutes before, because his own blade was busted. He didn't really think it'd be safe to just wander the streets unarmed, and he sure as fuck couldn't actually pay for something. He felt a sudden rush of anger. He shouldn't have to worry about getting jumped every day of his life! Dally shouldn't have to keep people from beating up his friends. None of this shit was fair._

_Not thinking, Dally swiped the knife across the tires of Tim Shepard's truck until they were all flat. Angrily, he kicked the side of the truck. "Fuckin' Christ," he muttered. Tim's gang was closer and more organized than a pack of wolves. They'd know it was him that slit his tires. He'd have to hide the knife somewhere. _

_Dally walked resignedly toward the store he stole the switch from. He stepped in. "Hey, mister," he said to the manager._

_"Back again?" the manager asked, sounding a bit nervous at the sight of the intimidating-looking greaser in his shop. _

_"Nah. I lifted this a few minutes ago," Dally said, setting the switchblade down on the counter. "Take it. I ain't meanin' to. Klepto," he lied. He shoved his hands in his pockets. _

_The manager picked up the knife gingerly. "Well, since you returned it, no charges pressed," he told the hood. "Just don't take anything else." He eyed Dally suspiciously as he walked out the door. _

_Why didn't I just bury it somewhere? Hide it? Dally thought._

_Why he returned the knife, Dally would never know. _

* * *

Darrel Curtis woke up to the smell of cigarette smoke in his room. He turned to the side, and realized the bed felt oddly empty. He sat bolt upright. Shit, where was Dally?

As if answering his thoughts, a tired voice said, "I'm right here, Darry." The older boy looked down and saw Dally sitting on the wood floor in his pajamas, smoking like no tomorrow. He'd already gone through a pack and was just about sick.

"Did you fall out of bed?" Darry asked. "You know, you could've just gotten back up." Dally shrugged. His eyes were narrowed, and he looked angry.

"Uh, Dar," Dallas said. "About that..." He nearly just lied and didn't say anything. But the Socs would undoubtedly be bragging about it to all of their friends. "Darry, I went to the cemetery."

"Why the fuck?" Darry said. He noticed something else. "Damn, Dal, you're filthy."

"I know I fuckin' am," Dally said miserably, taking another drag on his cigarette.

"And put out the damn cancer stick," Darry said sternly. As much as he was worried about his friend, he didn't want him smoking in the house. Dally sighed and did.

"Okay," Dally said. "So, I go to Johnnycake's grave, and I talk a bit, ya know? Helps me not be so depressed." Darry could've rolled his eyes.

"Didn't you just learn your lesson about that? Next thing, you're gonna tell me you fell asleep there," he said. Dally winced.

"Well, uh, yeah, I did," he said to Darry. The Curtis boy threw up his hands and shook his head. "And when I woke up I was gagged and I couldn't move."

"You fucking fool, Dallas," Darry snapped. "Are you kidding me? That was dumber than Ponyboy falling asleep in the lot!"

"I know, I fucking _know_!" Dally said loudly. "An'- an' they had me stuck with a knife, an' one of 'em half-stripped me." Dally couldn't even look at Darry now, he was too angry at himself and embarrassed. "Then they came up behind me, an'... an' they raped me." Dally's face wasn't visible, but his ears, sticking out of his messy hair, were bright red.

"Good God, Dal," breathed Darry. "Oh God."

"Don't give me no pity, 'cause I'm pityin' myself enough," the younger greaser said. "And I swore on J-" he choked up, thinking about the terrible scene by his grave. Mortified, he cleared his throat. "Johnnycake's grave, that I wouldn't tell the fuzz. So ya'll can tell Ponyboy and Soda and Steve and Two-Bit, but if any of ya'll snitch, I'm _dead_." He drew a hand across his throat grimly.

* * *

"I don't care that you don't want pity. You're getting it," Sodapop said firmly. Dally had just finished telling everyone the story, and they weren't taking kindly to it.

"Get away from me," Dally groaned as Steve tackled him playfully.

"I ain't going anywhere," Steve said, ruffling Dally's hair like he was a little kid.

"Ow- damn- shit-" Dally said as he was pretty much assaulted with kindness. Soda had an arm around him, Ponyboy was blabbering kind words, Two-Bit was busy ruffling his hair even more. Darry stood there, amused. Steve was still tackling Dally.

"God, I wanna make them pay," Two-Bit said angrily.

"Ya can't," Dally said, startled. "We're even now. We were really even until I cut one of the Socs. 'parently, he nearly died of blood loss. So they got me back. Simple as that."

"But Dal, you look terrible!" Ponyboy said. Dally glared. "I mean, no offense."

"Honestly, you don't look so good," Darry said. Dally acknowledged that. He knew he was battered and bruised, and he hurt like hell.

"Look, guys," Dally said. "I'm real grateful. But we're even now, and that's all that matters." It was obvious he was bottling up his anger, even before he punched the coffee table with all of his strength. He kicked the small table across the room and went limp against the couch. "It's not fucking fair!" he exploded. "If they didn't hate us I wouldn't hate them!"

"The Socs?" asked Ponyboy. Dallas nodded, clenching his fists.

"I get that I raped a few of 'em, but that don't mean they can rape me!" he said. "And it was right on top of where Johnny's coffin was buried. Right on top! I couldn't even do anything about it, it's all my fault for being so dumb..."

"You're not dumb!" Soda said. It was probably the word 'dumb' that made him say that. He didn't think people should just call themselves dumb. "Honest, Dal! You just wanted to go to Johnnycake's grave, and the Socs came along!"

"They stabbed me with your fuckin' kitchen knife!" Dally said, ignoring Soda. He pulled up his shirt, showing them the wound in his side. "Ya call that karma or what? 'Cause I stabbed one of 'em first, I raped one of 'em first. It's my fault," he vented, glaring. He looked like he was mad enough to kill someone. "Sure, ya tell me that it's okay, but nothing's okay! All I want is for Johnnycake ta be alive and here! He knew me, not one of ya'll know me! I hate the fuckin' world, all right?"

"Calm down, Dallas," Darry said, trying to reassure him. "I don't think you know what you're saying anymore."

"Sure as hell I do!" Dally said. "I can't fuckin' take it, all right? This here is just another reason I wanna die." Everyone kept quiet, because Dally looked like he was struggling to not lose it. His eyes were wild and deranged, and they looked unusually bright. The blond greaser slammed his fists into his eye sockets, trying to hide the tears. "If Johnny was tryin' ta make me feel better, I'd feel a lot better now," he whispered. A tear escaped from under his hand and rolled down his face, onto the fabric of his pants.

"Dal, there's nothing we can do," Steve said. "But you need to get some control." Darry pursed his lips and looked at Dally.

He needed a haircut, his barely visible eyes were bloodshot, he was covered in dirt, blood, and who-knows-what, he smelled like cigarettes, and he looked deranged.

"You know, we're here for you too," Darry said quietly. "I know Johnny was like your little brother, and that you two had a really special friendship. But we're here, too. We care."

Dallas looked up. "I know. That's the problem," he said. Not caring about Darry's hate of cigarette smoke, he lit another weed and started to smoke it. He stared blank-eyed at the coffee table, which was flipped over on the other end of the room. "I know ya'll care, but _I _don't care. I don't care that ya care. I'm just..." his voice trailed off. "...lonely, I guess."

* * *

HOMEWURK

Sherri probly felt real bad. She was real angery and felt like a pawn. Once Jhonnycake and me played chess. That's what Sherri felt like a pawn. She felt like people was just using her to get theyr anger out. She was crying real hard too. she flet sick and hated hurself. I mean, not that I know what bein rapped feels like. She felt real vulnerabble and like she was helpless. After it waz over she really hurt all over and didn't want to walk. And then she couldn't sleep for the rest of the nite.

by Dallas winston

* * *

"Dallas," said Dr. Smythe slowly, as she read his newest homework assignment. "Have you ever experienced sexual abuse?" Dally's stomach turned to a pit of ice, and he gripped onto his crutches hard. True, he didn't need crutches, but it was just another excuse to hobble around without people suspecting.

"W-why d'ya say that?" he asked, trying to keep his cool.

"If you take out the 'probably'-s, and the 'her'-s, and the 'Sherri'-s, then this piece of writing could apply to anyone," pointed out the therapist. "And since you haven't exactly had the most pleasant past..."

"Oh fuck," Dally hissed under his breath. Louder he said, "Uh, no, I haven't, lady. Sorry ta disappoint an' all." He forced a smile onto his face and shifted uncomfortably in his seat, wincing. Dr. Smythe's eyebrows raised up.

"You don't exactly sound like you're telling the truth, Dallas," she said. "I would like to remind you, if there's anything you don't want me to tell the police department, I won't tell them. It won't be written down anywhere, and it'll be kept confidential."

"Even if it's breakin' a law?" the greaser asked dejectedly, slumping over.

"...well, yes, I suppose..." said Dr. Smythe. She looked like a concerned grandmother for a second.

"I need ya word on it," Dally said, not making eye contact with her. "'Cause I know ya goal is ta get me outta the chair, and this might as well just be puttin' me in it." He stuck out his hand reflexively. In New York, deals between gangs were often made by shaking hands, and he was used to it.

"I give you my word," said Dr. Smythe seriously. Her pudgy, pale, wrinkled hand shook Dally's thin, bony hand. "Now, what happened?"

"Set down the damn clipboard," Dally said. "If ya write this down, I gotta switchblade with ya name on it." Despite herself, Dr. Smythe smiled. She'd seen this boy scream, cry, and draw pictures of him and Johnny Cade. Him threatening her didn't really make her feel threatened anymore. "I'm not kiddin'!" Dally said, annoyed at her lack of fear.

He told her the whole story, starting at the night where he got drunk and started to talk to Johnny's grave. He explained about the fight in the lot, the Soc raping him when he fell asleep in the cemetery. Dr. Smythe actually covered her mouth in shock when Dally described it.

"It was right on top of Johnnycake's coffin," Dally said. "An' I had a gag stuffed in my mouth. Someone came up behind me an' pulled down my pants an' stuck his dick in my ass an' I never felt so bad in my life an' I was cryin' an' screamin'-" He was rambling, talking so fast Dr. Smythe could barely understand him. Dally's face and ears were pink with mortification and anger.

"Slow down," Dr. Smythe said. "Would you like some water?" she asked, turning to the mini-fridge by her desk. Dally nodded miserably. It was one thing telling his friends about the rape, but telling a complete stranger make him feel as embarrassed as fuck.

He gulped down the water, but he wasn't calmed down at all. "My friend Buck -he's gay, but he's still my friend, an' just my friend- he told me once how... y'know, bein' fucked in the ass feels, an' he said it don't hurt after a little bit. He was wrong, 'cause it didn't stop hurtin' for me. Not one bit. I just remember thinkin', Johnnycake would kill them Socs if he knew they was rapin' me on his grave."

"I did think your story about breaking your ankle sounded flimsy," said Dr. Smythe, motioning toward his crutches with a pitying expression. "My goodness, Dallas. Where to start... all right, first: you should _not _have gotten drunk." Dally shrugged, downing more water. "From what people have told me about being drunk, it makes you do some pretty bad things. You can do that without being drunk."

Dally nodded, then realized something. "Hey, ya never got drunk before?" Dr. Smythe nodded. Dallas smirked. "Straight edge," he said. "Fine, I won't get drunk none."

"Second, about slitting your wrists... _don't think like that_. Doing that isn't going to make anything better for you. Third, it wasn't the best idea to pull a knife on the... Socs, you call them. It's probably a good thing they didn't call the police on you. You'd be dead in the electric chair by now," Dr. Smythe told Dally.

"It'd be a good thing if I was in the chair," he said, glaring.

"Well, if that's the way you feel, Dallas," she said, which is what she always said when he brought up suicide. "Anyway, you probably were already given a lot of grief for your decision to go the cemetery, and to fall asleep there."

"Hell yeah I have," Dally said, thinking of Darry.

"But you have to realize the rape wasn't your fault," Dr. Smythe said. "Don't think that it was." Dally finished off the rest of his water. "Any good things you've found?" The therapist sounded hopeful. Dally grudgingly showed her the page in his journal. It was still devoid of good things. "All right, then. One last thing, Dallas."

"What is it?" he asked, shifting his crutches, ready to leave.

"Take care," she said. He realized that she felt sorry for him. Awkwardly, he stood up and started to crutch himself away. He was never going to be able to 'take care'. Not unless he was with Johnny...


	14. Among the Dead

**This fic is just writing itself now, thank goodness! Another chapter for you!**

**And yes, I made up the Tulsa Suicide Watch.**

* * *

"Tell me where to go, tell me what to do  
I'll be right there for you  
Tell me what to say, no matter if it's true  
I'll say it all for you..."

-from "Legacy" by Eminem

* * *

_The night air smelled like cigarette smoke and car exhaust. Dally breathed it in like he was sniffing up drugs. The night air was like his drug- it made him feel alive and in the mood to jump some Socs. Like he wanted to get in his battered car and speed around the Soc side of Tulsa, screaming "Soc!" like they screamed "Greaser!". Instead, Dally tried to stick with reality. He didn't have a car, and no way would do that anyway. _

_He was on his way to the Curtis house, to check up on the rest of the gang. He had been busy jockeying with Buck during the day and going to parties at night. He figured Mrs. Curtis would kill him if he came to the house drunk or hungover, so he waited until he was all sobered up. He tossed his closed switchblade up in down in his hand, feeling particularly reckless that day. He was walking in the street. He wondered what Two-Bit would say when Dally would reveal he finally had a job. _

_Suddenly, something large crashed into Dally's back. He let out a surprised yelp as he fell forward. He realized he had been hit with a car. Lightly, thank God. He scrambled to his feet, hoping some blind old lady was the driver, but no such luck. Eight Socs leapt out of the Mustang, and before he could do anything, he was getting jumped._

_It was all a whirl of skin, expensive fabric, leather, spit, and blood. Dallas screamed and fought back, but he was outnumbered. If it was five, or maybe six Socs, he'd have it down, but there was just too many of them. Someone banged Dally's head against the street. Someone else tried to cut him, but Dally knocked the switch out of their hands. He fought back too, throwing punches and kicking. Eventually, though, he found himself lying down, half on the sidewalk, half on the street. Someone had a knife positioned right over his stomach. _

_"It's a greaser without hair grease! My God, he must be so poor he can't even afford that!" said one Soc. Dally swung out with his fist, and was rewarded with a splatter of blood and three spit-out teeth. The Soc holding the knife slashed open his skin, and he roared in pain, twisting around on the ground. Someone was standing on his wrists, holding him down. Dally spat at them. _

_"I heard you ran here on a murder rap," said the Soc holding the knife, grinning cruelly. "That true, greaser?"_

_"Damn right," Dally gasped, straining to escape. "If ya don't get off I'm gonna murder ya too." _

_"Ooh! Poor us, we're going to get killed by a retard _greaser_," said a Soc sarcastically. "How about we cut deeper for that little insult?" Dally wiggled around, trying to get his whole body on the sidewalk. His lower half was on the street and his waist up was on the sidewalk. He screamed as the knife stabbed harder, but he didn't smart-mouth them again._

_"That's a little better. This one just can't keep his mouth shut," said a Soc. A thick hand punched Dally in the face. He gritted his teeth, hoping no one could see just how much pain he was in._

_In spite of himself, Dally spat, "If ya kept yours shut, I just might do the same." He didn't think it was going to get him anything too bad, but just then one of the stronger Socs grabbed his arm. "Shit! Didn't mean it, naw, let go...STOP!" he howled as the Soc broke his arm in one, no, two, no, _three_ places. He'd had bones broken before, but this was the worst break he'd ever had. He wailed in pain, not caring who the fuck heard. As soon as he really started screaming, the Socs left. They knew the fuzz might be there any second. _

_But the fuzz didn't show up. In fact, no one showed up for at least ten minutes. He laid there on the ground, too pained to move. Then he heard footsteps, and opened his eyes. A pair of tattered sneakers appeared in front of him. _

_"Dal- oh fuck!" the voice yelled, seeing Dally lying there, a bloodstain on his shirt, his right arm bent at grotesque angles. Then the shoes ran away, the voice yelling, "I'll get help, just stay there!" It sounded like Sodapop Curtis._

_"Like I'm goin' anywhere," Dallas muttered. But it only took a minute or so for the person to come back. They came back with two other people. _

_"It's all right, kid, we're taking you to the hospital," Darry's voice said. "You let me know if I'm hurting you, all right?" With that, Dally felt himself being lifted into the air. When the person -probably Darry, no one else would be that strong to hold him- touched his arm, Dally let out a screech of pain. _

_"Soda, thank God you found him when you did," Darry's voice said, and Dally was set down in the bed of a truck. "He'd probably be dead if we hadn't came." Dally's eyes were barely open, and all he could see was the metal side of a truck. _

_"Johnny, you're gonna have to get into the back with Dally, we ain't got room. Talk to him, make sure he don't pass out," said Sodapop's voice. There was a pause. "I heard if it's bad if they pass out." _

_Someone else climbed into the truck bed next to Dally. He opened his eyes, and found Johnny Cade leaning over him, concerned. "Dally? What happened?" _

_"Got jumped," groaned Dally. "They broke my arm," he said pointlessly. _

_"Those stinkin' bastards," Johnny said. Dally shifted around. _

_"I didn't know ya could talk this much, kid. Or swear," he pointed out. Johnny smiled slightly. _

_"Well, I can," Johnny said. "You look real hurt." A hand felt around in Dally's light hair. "And you got a piece of glass in your hair." Dally twisted around, trying to shake it out of his head. He had probably been laying in a broken bottle for all his luck. "No, stay still. I'll get it out." Johnny's tiny fingers flitted around in Dally's hair, and eventually pulled out a sharp piece of clear glass. _

_"Thanks, Johnnycake," said Dally sleepily. He felt really tired. It was probably because he was going to pass out, but he forced himself to stay awake by pinching himself with his good arm. _

_There was hesitant laughter from the passenger's seat, where Soda was sitting. "Did you hear that, Darry? He just called Johnny 'Johnnycake'." Soda had a laugh about that for a few seconds. Then he stopped. "He must be real bad." _

_"Shuddup," Dally said tiredly, before blacking out. _

* * *

Dally could walk without hurting now.

It was five days from the rape, and he was trying to forget about it. To take Dr. Smythe's advice and not blame the rape on himself. But it was one of those things that he couldn't help but keep in the back of his mind, gnawing a hole in his heart.

"Hey, Dal," said Darry, knocking on the door of the room. "Can I come in?"

"It's your room," Dally pointed out. "'Course ya can come in." He was sitting on the bed, smoking. Darry threw up his hands.

"Dallas Winston, I've been telling you not to smoke. Not just not in here. You're gonna make yourself puke," Darry told him. He was sweaty, Dally noted. He must've been out in the lot, playing football with his brothers.

"I never made myself puke before, and I ain't about ta," Dallas said. "Just leave me alone." The larger boy sighed and sat down next to him. Sure enough, he smelled like sweat, dirt, and Soda's cologne.

"That's the thing, Dal. We can't 'just leave you alone', you know?" Darry said, putting an arm around him. "You're not doing well, Dallas. We don't want to come home and find you swinging from the ceiling fan."

"Because then ya'd have ta get a new ceilin' fan," Dally said dully, taking a drag. He wasn't angry. He was just automatically assuming that no one cared for him.

"That's not true and you _know _it!" Darry insisted. "We'd be fucking torn apart if you died!" Dally stared at his lap silently. For a second, Darry hoped he might apologize or something. At least put out the cigarette.

"Sure ya would," he said instead, now sounding slightly fed up. "Sure."

He felt all empty, like nothing at all. And what did he used to be? Was he ever worth living for? All he did was fight and rape and kill. Who would want to live for a life like that? And why should he care about what everyone else thought? He was miserable without Johnny. If he died he would be happy. Didn't they want him to be happy? _No, they were just being selfish,_ Dally thought spitefully. _Darry just doesn't want no one dying in his house, because if they did he'd get split up from his damn brothers. _

Practically echoing Dr. Smythe, Darry said, "If that's the way you feel" and walked out of the room.

* * *

"I've got an idea," Steve said as they sat around the table, eating lunch. Dally had already left. He had wolfed down his food so he wouldn't have to stay and talk with his friends.

"What?" Soda asked, dumping his dishes in the sink.

"To maybe make Dally feel better," Steve said, motioning toward Darry's bedroom with his fork. "A rumble."

"No way," said Darry firmly. "You saw what happened after the last rumble! Ponyboy got a concussion, for fuck's sake!" Ponyboy looked up at the mention of his name and concussion. He touched the side of his head as if remembering it.

"But Dal likes a good rumble," Steve persisted. "It'd only be skin, and if ya want, Pony doesn't have to be in it. Besides... the Socs went in our territory. Technically we need to rumble again, and make sure they know we ain't letting them in." That was kind of what did it for Darry. They actually did need a rumble.

"Fine," Darry said, giving in. Everyone cheered, and started talking. "Wait, wait, _wait_!" Darry said loudly. "We need some guidelines. Skin fighting only, and Ponyboy stays home."

"Darry," Ponyboy whined. He propped his head up on his hands. "I want to fight."

"Let him," said Soda surprisingly. He usually never contradicted his oldest brother. "Pretty much _all_ of us got hurt that bad in the last rumble. It was a pretty bad rumble for us all."

"Damn right," Steve muttered. He was just glad that he didn't have to wear a brace on his ribs anymore. Louder he added, "C'mon, Darry. We all got beat up." Darry thought about this. He remembered his middle brother kneeling next to Steve as he screamed in pain. He remembered the Soc kicking Pony in the head. He remembered Dally running into the rumble just as it started, screaming, "Don't ya know it's not a rumble without me?"

"If he wants to, he can," Darry said gruffly. "But don't think you can make me do anything else! And quiet down unless you want Dally hearing." That shut up the laughing and excited talking. "I have to admit, the idea isn't that bad. Dally definitely likes rumbles."

"He was real happy at the last one," said Two-Bit. His face fell a bit. "Until he kidnapped Ponyboy-"

"He didn't kidnap me," Ponyboy said, a bit ticked off at being treated like a little kid.

"Whaddaya call dragging someone into a car and driving off with them?" Two-Bit said in a mock-serious face. "I'm surprised he didn't get a kidnapping charge too." The gang laughed as Two-Bit grabbed Pony and put a hand over his mouth. "We're gonna see Johnnycake whether ya wanta or not!" he said in a bad New York accent.

Just then Dally barged into the kitchen. "I'm leavin', ya'll. Buck told me ta come ta his place." Without a second glance at his now-silent gang, Dally left.

* * *

Dally only officially owned two things. They were his heater and the bullets for it. The rest of his stuff was all shoplifted.

If Darrel knew he had bought ammo for his heater, he'd kill him. He didn't even know Dally had gotten his heater back. But he had- it was still lying in the lot, until Dally picked it up and brought it to the Curtis house a day ago. When the gang went to go watch a movie with Ponyboy, Dally told them he was going to an emergency therapy session.

He went to the ammo store and bought as many bullets as he could with the rest of his jockeying money.

Right then, Dally was hoping to God Darry hadn't gone through his stuff. He'd get in huge trouble with both the fuzz and Darry if they knew he had a loaded gun just sitting there.

The greaser opened the door to Buck's house, which was surprisingly quiet, since it was only noon. He walked in without knocking and nearly ran into Buck Merril himself.

"Next time knock, you dirty hood, you," said Buck, grinning at him wickedly. There was something kind of off about his voice, like he was being fake-happy.

"Ya wanted ta see me?" Dally drawled, taking a drag on his weed. Buck fidgeted uncomfortably. "Oh, bet I know why. Sorry I ain't been ridin', I got raped by some Socs and it hurt to walk for a few days. I'm open to ride whenever 'cept my therapy-"

"Uh, Dal, 'bout that," Buck said awkwardly. "You're not allowed to ride no more." Dally's mouth practically dropped open. It would be almost comical if it wasn't such a serious moment.

"Why- why not?" Dally stuttered, speechless. "It ain't the rape charge, is it? I ain't gonna rape no horse." Buck smiled, but only in seconds that smile disappeared.

"It's not that," said Buck. "It's- well- here, have a look for yourself." Buck rummaged around in a messy stack of papers until he found a letter. "Here. Read it."

"Do I gotta read it aloud?" Dally said sarcastically. Truthfully, he liked reading aloud better. It helped him understand the words easier. "Dear Mister Buck Merril..." he said under his breath.

The letter went like this:

_Dear Mister Buck Merril:_

_We understand you work with a teenager named Dallas Winston. He has recently been charged with rape and severe assault. Normally, he would be permitted to remain employed under supervision, but the other day, he was put on the Tulsa Suicide Watch. Individuals openly in danger of taking their lives are not allowed to be employed. This is helping do away with public and/or murder-suicides. Dallas will have to be removed from his job. _

_Sincerely, Chief Nathan Smith of the Tulsa Police Department _

Dally looked up, face confused. "What does this m-"

"They think you're going to be riding, and all of a sudden, throw yourself off the horse," Buck said bluntly. "They don't want you offing yourself in front of everyone watching."

Dallas's face twisted in anger. His teeth were clenched so hard he thought they might all fall out. "This is fuckin' stupid," he seethed. "Just 'cause I don't want ta live, I can't keep a job?" His white-knuckled hands grasped at the paper, and tore it in half with a loud ripping sound.

"Dal, calm down!" Buck said as Dally punched a table next to him. Dally looked like he wanted to throw something, but he took deep breaths, trying to calm his blazing temper.

The picture of him and Johnny laughing and sitting in front of the Curtis house. Deep breath. Johnny sitting on the Curtis' porch with him on Christmas Eve, because they didn't have anywhere else to go. Deep breath. Johnny sitting on the street corner with that little girl on Halloween. Deep breath.

"Sorry," Dally muttered. "Suppose I ain't doin' no good stickin' 'round. See ya."

It was even obvious to Buck that Dally was getting cold and depressed, and that he really missed his Johnnycake- to the point of wanting to join his among the dead.


	15. If You Give a Hood a Heater

**This chapter contains one of my favorite flashbacks to write, so I hope you like it as much as I do! :)**

* * *

"Your eyes, they shine so bright  
I wanna save that light  
I can't escape this now  
Unless you show me how..."

-from "Demons" by Imagine Dragons

* * *

_"Jingle bells, jingle bells, twenty beers a day!" Two-Bit's voice bellowed from the Curtis house._

_"Oh, what fun it is to have work with real pay-ay!" Soda's voice said. _

_"Jingle bells, jingle bells, rumble every day!" Darry said. _

_"Oh what fun it is to get jumped by Socs, NO FUCKIN' WAY! Hey!" Steve's voice yelled. The laughter and the song was heard all the way in the lot by the house._

_Dally sat in the lot, frustrated. He was smoking a lot more than he should, trying to calm his nerves. _

_It was official: Dallas Winston hated Christmas. Not just a little 'oh, it's annoying' thing. He hated it with a passion. For one, he had no family to go to at Christmas. He didn't want to go to the Curtis house, because, as the newest gang member, he always felt awkward. So he just sat in the lot, a cloud of cigarette smoke around him, shivering. Tulsa was seeing one of its coldest winters yet, according to the natives. _

_"Ya dumbass," Dally said aloud, talking to himself. "Couldn't ya just go ta Buck's?" He actually wanted to steer clear of Buck's for the Christmas season. The drinks were more expensive, and he didn't want to get stuck in a halfhearted Christmas-sex situation with Anna, his latest broad. Dally sighed and glared at the empty lot. The Curtis house was looking festive, for the beat-up wreck it was. Playful laughter came from it, and Dally saw the lights on. _

_He bet it was a hell of a lot warmer in there than it was outside. _

_Dallas was seriously considering steeling his nerves and going to Buck's house, but then, he heard footsteps coming up behind him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his heater, not looking who it was. "I know I'm a broke-ass grease, but that ain't givin' ya the rights ta jump me on Christmas Eve." _

_"It's me, Dally," said a shy voice. Dally, recognizing the voice as Johnny's, stuffed his weapon back in his pants. _

_"Sorry, kid," he said gruffly, when he saw that Johnny was as white as a sheet. "Didn't mean ta scare ya."_

_"You didn't," Johnny said, sitting down next to him. His little body was just as cold as Dallas's. "I'm just kinda cold." Dally, alarmed, put a hand on Johnny's forehead, pushing back his bangs. _

_"Jesus, kid! You're colder than the... that real cold ocean," Dally said lamely. He didn't remember the name of that ocean that was really cold. _

_"Arctic," Johnny said wearily._

_"Yeah, that. Anyway, ya better get in ta the house. The gang's probably worried sick," the older boy said. "And ya need ta warm up."_

_"Will you come in with me, then?" Johnny asked. Dally was at a loss for words._

_"Uh, I dunno, kid," he said. "I might kill the mood more than a little bit." He rubbed his freezing hands together. _

_"Come on, Dal," pleaded Johnny. "You're not the only one that feels out of place with them." Dally was a bit startled by this. He didn't know Johnny felt out-of-place among the gang. He thought he was the only one. _

_"All right, I'm comin'," Dally said, throwing his cigarette to the frosty ground and stamping it out. He stood up, wincing. The blond reached out an arm to Johnny and hauled him to his feet. _

_Together, they walked up the ice-slick steps to the Curtis house. Johnny knocked on the door as loud as he could, because he doubted they'd be heard. He was shivering like nothing imaginable. Dally took one look at him and his heart softened a little bit. He put an arm around the kid and drew Johnny toward him, trying to share his body heat._

_An extremely drunken Two-Bit answered the door. "Jeez, ya'll is freezing your bums off out there, aintcha?" He opened the door for them and let them in._

_Johnny collapsed on the couch and curled up in it like he was trying to sink into it. Dally walked into the kitchen. "Mind if I borrow a beer or two? Or three? Or four?" he asked, grabbing drinks. Darry waved a hand at him as he chugged down a pop._

_"You don't need that much to drink," he said. "Anything... uh, wrong, Dallas?" _

_"It's Christmas Eve and the best thing I've gotta do is jack off in a vacant lot," Dally snapped at him. Johnny recoiled as he listened, hoping Dally hadn't been fucking himself right before he arrived at the lot or something. "So I might as well get drunk off my ass." Dally was a bit of a lightweight for his age, and Darry really hoped he wasn't going to overdo it. He snatched his drinks and stomped over to the heating vent, huddling against it for warmth. _

_He drank all four beers in quick succession and was playing drinking games with Two-Bit, Steve, and Soda. He didn't know if he was having fun or not, but drinking was good fun enough for him. _

_Steve was telling some story about his broad. "And after we were done fuckin', she yelled at me for snapping her bra strap and left not wearing anything under her shirt." The boys roared with laughter. Dally was feeling a lot better than he had before._

_Then he saw Johnny. Johnny was curled up in a pile of blankets on the couch, half-asleep, watching everyone else partying with a look of mixed jealousy and tiredness. He looked like he wanted to be sitting with them, but he was just too shy. Dally remembered Darry saying that Ponyboy was sick with the flu. Johnny didn't even have Pony to hang out with._

_"Gotta go," Dallas said to the other guys. He got up and stretched, before falling onto the couch next to Johnny. "Hey, Johnnycake," he said quietly. "Ya doin' all right?" It had became a bit of a joke, the gang calling Johnny 'Johnnycake'. It had started with Dally accidentally calling him that when he got a concussion and barely knew what he was saying. Then everyone had started calling him that as a pet name._

_Johnny nodded. "Are you still cold, Dally?" he asked timidly, noticing Dally's face was flushed._

_"Just mighty crocked," he said, grinning. "Why ya sittin' over here all on ya own?" _

_"I dunno," Johnny said. But they both knew it was because he was so shy. _

_"Well, get up. Y'wanna go watch the snow on the porch?" Dally offered. "Used ta do that a lot in New York." Johnny nodded again and got up, grabbing the pile of blankets. Dally grabbed two pillows off the couch and shouted to the rest of the gang where they were going. _

_When they got outside, they were hit by a blast of cold air and snow. Dally shivered, but he liked the snow. It made stupid hick-town Tulsa seem more like New York City. The two boys sat right in front of the door, pillows behind them, heaped with blankets. _

_"It's real pretty, ain't it?" Dally said admiringly, staring at the crystal-like minuscule flakes as they fell gracefully from the clouds and onto the ground._

_"Sure is," said Johnny happily. "It hasn't snowed here for four years. You're lucky to be seein' this." Dally couldn't imagine it not snowing for four years. It'd be terrible. _

_The flakes of snow blew across the street and started to drift. The two greasers watched as the snow reached an inch. They were both freezing their asses off, but the sight of snow was just so beautiful to them they couldn't help but stay outside._

If I could,_ Dally thought, _I'd live this moment forever.

* * *

There was a letter from the Police Department delivered to the Curtis house about the Tulsa Suicide Watch too.

"What's the motherfuckin' Suicide Watch anyway?" Dallas asked, sitting on the counter in the kitchen. "Whoever made it up deserves ta go ta hell." He glared at Darry's back. Darry was reading the letter and pacing around the kitchen, nodding like the writer of the letter could see him and shaking his head in disappointment occasionally. "What does it say?" Dally said, jumping off the counter. He was losing his patience.

"It says you can't drive," Darry said.

"What the flyin' fuck?" Dally shouted. "I can't _drive_?" He maybe got _-maybe- _that he couldn't keep his job. But that he can't drive? _  
_

"They don't want you purposely smashing into another car or something," Darry explained. "Don't worry, Dal. Oh yeah, and it also says that we have to go through your belongings." Poor Dally just about had a heart attack there and then.

"What? Not now, Darry! Please don't look through my stuff? Please? Goddammit, I said please," Dallas pleaded. "I've got some... personal stuff in there." If you could call a heater personal.

"Like what?" Darry said, instantly on guard.

"Uh... a picture," Dally lied. "Of my old gang. It's real personal ta me. We was drunk when we took it an' it's not exactly appropriate..." The worst that was happening in the picture was the middle finger, really. Darry bought it, though, and sighed.

"Fine. Go hide it, or whatever you're going to do with it," Darry said. "I'm giving you five minutes." Quickly, Dally raced into the bedroom and slammed the door shut. He grabbed his heater and ammo and hid it in his jacket. He ran out the door of the house and dumped his weapon under a bush. He ran back to the house, panting.

"Hid it," he said, hoping and praying there was nothing else even vaguely suspicious in his drawers.

Darry and Dally walked into the bedroom. The first of Dally's two drawers held clothes only, and nothing was found. Dally let out a sigh of relief. The second drawer contained Johnny's old jean jacket, a few unused condoms, a comb, a bottle of aspirin, and two pairs of shoes.

Darry snatched the aspirin. "Aw, Dar," Dally complained. "I ain't gonna OD on it or somethin'." Darry gave his best stern look.

"It's a necessary precaution," he said. Dally rolled his eyes, but fortunately, nothing else was taken.

"It says that we have to watch you shave, to make sure you don't slit your wrists," Darry said. He tried to stay serious, but the thought of him standing there while his friend shaved was just so comical he couldn't help but snicker.

"Aw, shuddup," Dally snapped. "How'd ya feel if ya just lost ya job and now ya can't even shave in private?" Darry chuckled, but managed to stop laughing.

"Well-" Darry started, but just then someone barged through the door.

"Never fear, Two-Bit is here!" a voice hollered. "Hey, ya'll, we better plan the- oh... hey." He saw Darry trying to hide a grin and Dally glaring. "What's going on here?"

"I can't drive, Darry just went through my stuff, and now he has to watch me shave so I don't slit my wrists," Dally said. Two-Bit let out a loud laugh at that. "I'm on the official suicide watch. And what are we plannin'?"

Two-Bit looked at Darry anxiously. "Uh... Dal, what with you being raped and all, we figure we should have a rumble. Teach those Socs who's boss." Two-Bit tried to imitate Dally by cracking his knuckles and glaring at everyone.

"A rumble?" Dally asked, ignoring Two-Bit's parody of him. His face lit up with the biggest smile they'd seen since Johnny had died. "Really?" Two-Bit winked at Darry, as if to say, _see, I told you a rumble'd make him feel better._

"Yep, really," Two-Bit said. "Why? You wanna fight?" He raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. Dally cuffed him playfully, grinning.

"Fight the Socs? Anytime," he said. "Beat their asses? Always." Darry and Two-Bit grinned at each other over Dally's head. Dally was taller than Two-Bit though, and knew something was going on. But he didn't say anything, because it might ruin his excitement.

They were going to have a rumble! And they were going to show the Socs that they can't just go around ass-raping him until he can't walk without hurting.

Dally smiled, and despite what happened at the _last_ war council, he was already mentally getting ready to spit his anger back in the Socs' faces.


	16. Muggings and War Councils

**Another lovely little war council. **

**Warning: This chapter is pretty dark.**

* * *

"So one shot's for the money  
Two's to stop the show..."

-from "One Shot Two Shot" by Eminem

* * *

_"Okay, ya wait there," said Dally. "And you over there follow me. The rest of you, on the other side." He pointed, giving directions at each statement. "They ain't gonna want to come down this alley ever again!" The members of the Heaters chuckled as they took their spots. Some of them on the left side of the alley, some on the right, and some standing around Dally._

_"Whadda we gotta do?" asked one of the Heaters that was with Dally._

_"We mug 'em," Dally said. They cheered- everyone liked a good mugging. "Shut up, we gotta be quiet so they don't hear us." The people that were supposed to 'follow' Dally followed him to the first entrance of the alley. "Shit, I forgot. We better split up again. Okay, half 'a ya go to the other side. If someone comes in your side, ya wait for them to pass. Then ya follow 'em. We'll take 'em at this end. Same thing goes, 'cept backwards, if someone comes in this side. Understand?"_

_"Sure, Dally"-s, "Mmhm"-s, and "Damn right"-s came from the group._

_"Whadda _we_ do?" called a voice from the dark alley._

_"You surround 'em, make sure they can't get out," Dallas said. He loved giving out orders to his group. It made him feel important, like he was_ somebody_, like people were threatened by him or good enough friends with him to follow his orders. _

_The gang positioned itself perfectly. The boys at the ends of the alleyway talked casually and smoked. Dally anxiously blew smoke rings into the air, and talked to his friends. _

_Just then, there was a noise at the other end of the tunnel. High heeled shoes, clicking down the bricks of the alley. And a running pair of feet, too. _

_Dallas and his group ambushed them, running into the tunnel and knocking the unfortunate people to the ground. Dally found of the people they were mugging. There was the smell of kid's shampoo and clean clothes. Dally lifted the person up by the collar of their dress and held them closer to the light. It was a little girl, just a toddler. Dally felt his stomach clench as he thought of what'd he have to do. The girl just wouldn't stop crying. It hurt Dally's ears and he couldn't stand it. Had he cried that way when his mother shot herself?_

_The gang leader pulled his infamous heater out of his pants and pointed it at the girl's head. He positioned it under her tiny chin, and, narrowing his eyes, he shot her. The crying stopped, but Dally had a job to do. He quickly stripped the little girl of her expensive dress, her little purse filled with money, and her diamond earrings. _

_The rest of the Heaters were taking care of the girl's mother. She wasn't shot, she just was knocked out. She had a lot of jewelry on her, and a shitload of money. Dally walked over._

_"Ain't ya got a brain in ya head?" he asked angrily. "Take the damn dress off, it's worth money too." Dally stripped the woman, and the Heaters whistled jokingly. Dally looked fleetingly down at the woman's curvy naked body. He looked up again quick. It would be a really bad time to get turned on. _

_"Fuck, man, whatcha do ta the lil' girl?" asked Dally's friend Tom. _

_"Shot her," Dallas said, without a trace of remorse. "Let's get goin'." As they left the alley, Dally looked back. A shiver ran through his whole body as he thought of the little dead girl who just couldn't stop crying._

_The Heaters proceeded to a pawn shop, where they successfully got good money for the earrings, jewelry, (emptied) purses, and dresses. They returned to Dally's apartment to split the money evenly. They all ended up with a decent amount of money._

_"An' that's what ya call a good day," Dally said. "Ya'll better leave," he added, popping open a beer can and taking a gulp. "My dad's comin' home soon." The Heaters looked around nervously. _

_"Well, good luck with him," said one of the boys as he left._

_"I'm gonna need it," Dally muttered to himself. He slumped against the headboard of his bed and sighed. _

_The apartment was small, and crammed with stolen stuff. Even the furniture was stolen. When one of his apartment neighbors got in a car accident, Dally stole their furniture on the day of their funeral. There was a small refrigerator -also stolen from the dead family- constantly filled with disgusting food, beer, and liquor. Neither of the occupants of the apartment were actually drunks, but Dally drank a lot on bad days. _

_The door burst open and Timothy Winston collapsed on the Welcome mat. Dally leapt up from the bed, setting down his beer. He got his switchblade ready as he hauled his father to his feet. _

_"Better sit down, _Dad_," Dallas spat, as if he had to remind his crazy dad that he was a father. He was desperately hoping that his father was in one of his paranoid moods and not one of his crazy ones._

_Apparently that was too much to hope for. "I'll do that, after I beat your ass for being so fucking _rude_!" snarled Mr. Winston. He grabbed Dallas's hand and slowly pulled his fingers off his switchblade, forcing him to let go of it. And, naturally, managing to dislocate Dally's thumb. Dally gritted his teeth, trying not to show weakness, as he popped his thumb back into place. _

_"You ungrateful little brat," Mr. Winston yelled at his son, sliding his belt out from his jeans. "Always running around and getting in jail every other week!" Dally barely had time to scream before he was pinned to the floor by his heavier father. Something whistled in the air and suddenly, a white-hot pain seared across Dally's face. He howled in pain and covered his face with his hands. His beer was knocked off the table he'd set it on, and it had spilled all over him, covering him in alcoholic brown liquid. _

_"Dad! Stop, I ain't meanin' it, I'll stop, just stop hittin' me!" Dallas wailed as his father continued to beat him with his belt. Dally felt tears running down his face and wished he could stop crying. "Dad! STOP!" he yelled as his father stepped on his chest hard. Dally felt his ribs crack, and he let out a moan. He looked around quickly before grabbing his heater, firing a few times randomly, and running out the door. _

_He found his way to his best friend, Andy Pector's house. He smelled like beer, he was crying, and just plainly a mess. He was lucky the other gangs weren't roaming that part of town. He'd be laughed all the way to the city limits. _

_He knocked on the door of Andy's apartment. His mother answered the door. Dally felt another wave of tears coming on. If his mother was alive, would she stop Mr. Winston from beating him? No, she had been crazy- she'd shot herself in the stomach and head when Dally was only one year old. _

_"Dallas? What are you doing here?" she asked. Andy's mother had always been so nice to him. He broke down crying right there in the hallway to the apartment. "Goodness, come in." She opened the door for the alcohol-soaked, crying mess known as Dallas Winston. _

_"C-can I stay here for the night?" Dally said shakily as Mrs. Pector poured him a cup of water. "My dad... he's been beatin' me..." He accepted the glass of water, but instead of drinking it, he stood over the sink and poured it over his blond head. He gripped the edge of the sink, trying not to cry anymore._

_"Of course you can stay, Dally. You can share Andy's room," Mrs. Pector said. As if knowing people were talking about him, Andy burst out of his room._

_"Dal? Lordamighty, that bastard dad 'a yours better lay off ya," he said, striding over to his shaking friend and putting an arm around him. _

_When Dally went to sleep that night on Andy's floor, he couldn't help but think that since he had a crazy mom and a crazy dad, he might be crazy too._

* * *

The war council wasn't anything fancy. It was at The Way Out drive-in, some stupid Soc place. The greasers and "Tim Shepard and Company" were the only gangs fighting against the Socs, according to Darry, so it wouldn't be too large of a rumble either.

Darry's blue pick-up truck cruised the streets of the West Side, making its way to the Tulsa city limits. The Way Out was right on the edge of town. The greasers could hear the Socs' wild laughter and glass shattering from a mile away.

Darry parked the truck in the parking lot neatly. "You missed that car," Two-Bit said out the side of his mouth. "It was good 'ol Bob's." He pointed at the blue Mustang next to them. Dally grinned crookedly and jumped out of the back of the truck.

A few Socs, leaders of clubs, waited for them on the sidewalk. Two-Bit, Darry, Steve, Dally, and Tim Shepard walked toward them. Upon seeing Dallas, one of the Socs snickered and yelled, "Hey, Winston! Want a water?"

"Go fuck yourself," Dally snapped, his good mood dissipating.

"I bet you'd have a lot of experience with that," the Soc fired back, grabbing his crotch. "'Oh, Johnnycake, I'll just pretend I'm touching you...'" he mimicked. Dally nearly went for his heater, but he remembered it was hidden in a bush by the Curtis house. Shit.

"Calm down, Dal," Tim Shepard said quietly. "They're just tryna get under your skin." Dally's muscles stayed clenched, but his faced looked a bit less angry.

"Where's this rumble gonna be?" asked Darry. "Your side or ours?"

"Yours," one of the Socs said. "So we can blame it on you." They laughed. Darry shrugged nonchalantly.

"Fine with me," he said. "How about in Quinten Park?" The Socs whispered to each other, consulting each other. Dally was only remembering how Johnnycake killed a Soc in that very park.

"All right," said a Soc. "So, how're we fighting? Blades? Heaters?"

"Skin," Dally interrupted. "I don't know 'bout you, but I can beat ya ass just fine with my fists." Steve slapped him good-naturedly on the back.

"'Course you can, Dal," he said. Raising his voice, he said, "Now, go easy on those Socs. They can't even beat you up with chains." The greasers laughed at the Socs' offended expressions.

"Okay, skin fight, Quinten Park," said a Soc. "I assume your retarded little gang's going to take part, too, Tim." Tim Shepard's face turned from a neutral look into a glare.

"First off, they ain't retarded. And yeah, we are," Tim said to the Socs.

"Yeah, you _are_ retarded?" a Soc said, grinning. "You don't even know if you are."

"I _meant _we're going to be in the damn _rumble_," Tim snarled, digging a switchblade out of his pocket, forgetting where he was. "Now get lost."

"You're the ones on our territory," pointed out a Soc. "You get lost."

"Fine, we will," snapped Tim. "C'mon, guys."

As they drove off, Dally felt oddly happy. The Socs were back to their usual tricks, and everything just seemed like it had before Johnny died. He even laughed when the Socs threw a pop bottle at the truck.

His friends noticed, and were relieved. Maybe Steve was right. A rumble might just be exactly what Dally needed to bring him out of his slump. If Dally told his friends just then that he had a loaded heater hidden, they wouldn't believe him.

It was almost scary, how one moment Dally was so upbeat, but the next was thinking about the ways he could kill himself.


	17. A Long Way Gone

**It just kills me to write this. Dammit, my poor Dally... **

* * *

"There's no one to call, 'cause I'm just playing games with them all  
The more I swear I'm happy, the more that I'm feeling alone  
Cause I spent every hour just going through the motions  
I can't even get the emotions to come out  
Dry as a bone, but I just wanna shout..."

-from "What Now" by Rihanna

* * *

_"Happy New Year!" shouted the Heaters, clinking liquor bottles. Dally had been staring at the sky dejectedly, and didn't notice the change of year._

_"Happy New Year," he muttered after everyone else. He didn't even bother clinking bottles, he just gulped down his drink. He scowled at the ground. _

_"Somethin' wrong, Dal?" asked one of the boys drunkenly. "Why you lookin' mad?" Dally let his bottle fall to his feet with a clank on the ground of the parking lot. He didn't really want to give specifics, it was pretty personal. But if he couldn't trust his gang, he couldn't trust anyone at all._

_ "My dad walked in on me jackin' off and raped me," Dally said. The words tasted foreign on his tongue, though he'd said them all before. _

_His gang stared at him in shock. Dally knew most of them had pretty bad families, but he didn't know of any of them being raped. _

_"Jesus," said Tom, handing Dally another bottle. "Drink up. You need it." He patted Dally on the back as his leader swigged back more liquor. Dally's blue eyes slowly went from angry and depressed to drunk and dull. _

_His gang was drinking in a daze. Dallas Winston- Dallas fucking Winston, their leader, raped by his own father? Sure, they knew that Mr. Winston beat him sometimes, but raping him was an entirely different thing. _

_"What... ya know, happened?" asked Ben, Dally's second-in-command. Dally ground his empty bottle into the cement like he was trying to make sand out of the glass. _

_"Made me give 'im a fuckin' blowjob," Dallas said. Just the thought of it made his stomach churn. Trying to hide it, he took a gulp of liquor. A strangled sound came from deep in Dally's throat, and he desperately tried to keep his food down. _

_One of the boys -Dally couldn't see who, in all the dark- sat over next to him and put an arm around him. "Don't worry," he said. "We'll get that sonofabitch back. Just ya wait." _

_Dally nodded numbly. He set down his bottle. The alcohol was making him feel even sicker than he was. _

_"Wanna light a fire?" asked Andy from across the lot._

_Dally secretly didn't like fires. They made him feel awkwardly warm and the sparks flying made him think he might be set aflame any moment. But for the sake of cheering up his gang, he said, "Aw, why not?" He and his gang got off the curb of the parking lot, shivering slightly, and walked around, looking for flammable things. Dally found a maple tree sapling, and it was easy enough to saw down with his switchblade. He carried the cut-down tree to the middle of the lot, and placed it on top of the wood his gang had collected. _

_He dropped a lit match carefully on the pile. There was a spark, and suddenly, everything was burning. Dally took a quick step back as sparks flew at him. The Heaters moved close to the fire, but Dally stayed where he was._

_"Come over here, Dal!" shouted someone. "Dare ya to stick ya arm in the fire for five seconds!" Dally couldn't help but be amused by that. During his early gang days, he had initiated people by making them do that. He always lied and said he'd done it before, then laughed at the screaming, burning newbie. _

_Dally got up, trying to act casual. "What, ya think I can't do that? That shit's fuckin' easy." He walked over to the fire. _

_"Fine, Mister Dickhead," said one of the Heaters. "Ten seconds, then." Dallas silently cursed himself for being so arrogant. Outwardly, he shrugged and pulled off his shoplifted leather jacket. He tore off his shirt, too, for good measure. He didn't want to set his clothes on fire._

_"About done there? Gonna take off ya pants too?" asked Tom._

_"What, ya want me to?" Dallas said, grinning wickedly. The drink was pushing his bad thoughts right out of his head. "That ain't happenin'." He and his gang chortled. _

_"Ready? I'll count the seconds," called someone. _

_"Ready..." Dally stood sideways next to the fire. Its heat made rivers of sweat pour down his bare back, despite the cold. "Set..." He was seriously considering going back on this. "Go!" _

_Before he could convince himself not to, Dally stuck his entire arm in the bonfire, from fingertips up to bicep. He clamped his mouth shut, but he looked like he was being burned in hell. Two seconds passed. Dally's skin blistered and burned, and it felt terrible. He was so sweaty he felt as if he'd taken a shower in the stuff. Five seconds. He nearly pulled his arm out, he was in so much pain. He screwed his eyes shut and tried not to look at his flaming arm. _

_Finally, when the ten seconds were up, Dally leapt away from the fire. "Holy fuckin' shit!" he yelped, feeling his arm. It was covered in burns. _

_"That's whatcha get," said Andy, one of the oldest gang members. He had had to do the initiation. "Hurts, don't it?"_

_"Yeah, I guess," Dally said, trying to shrug off his pain. Some of the boys laughed good-naturedly. _

_"That's our Dallas," said Ben, grinning and slapping Dally on the back. "He can take anythin'."_

* * *

It was obvious to his friends that Dallas's depression was getting worse, despite the approaching rumble. Dally had taken to going for long walks all around Tulsa, and wandering around the Curtis house aimlessly. He was staring into mirrors like he couldn't see his face clearly enough.

He was snapping at everyone, too. When Darry asked him to take out the trash, since he had so much time on his hands, Dally snapped. Without even thinking, he undid the belt on his pants and hit Darry across the face with it. Darry had just sat there for a second, stunned, as his face swelled up. Dally's face had crumpled and he ran outside to the lot to cry.

"We need to do something," Darry said to the rest of the gang, holding a bag full of ice to his cheek. "Now."

"What?" Two-Bit asked. "What can we do? Dal just doesn't want to live anymore."

"We could tell the fuzz," suggested Ponyboy from the couch. Everyone glared at him. Was the kid out of his mind? If they told the fuzz they'd have to report the rape, and the rumble. "Never mind, actually," he said quickly.

"I think we should..." Soda started. "Never mind. It's a stupid idea." He ground the heels of his hands into his forehead, muttering something about how dumb he was.

"Like Two-Bit said," Steve said. "There ain't nothing we can do for him now." He looked over at his best friend. "Quit calling yourself stupid, Soda. And what was your idea? C'mon, I bet it's better than you think."

"We let him talk to Cherry," Soda suggested. "Tell her he's sorry, or whatever else he wants to say. I think it's bothering him."

"You aren't stupid at all," Darry said. "Matter of a fact, I think that's a good idea." He put an arm over his brother's shoulder. "Hey, Ponyboy. Will you call Cherry up and tell her to come over here?"

"Sure, Darry," the youngest Curtis said, getting up off the couch. He walked over to the phone and searched for Cherry Valance's phone number. Thankfully, Dally was at his therapy session, and wouldn't overhear the phone call.

"Hello?" Cherry's pleasant voice said at the other end of the line. Ponyboy was tongue-tied, and he kind of stuttered for a second. Soda winked at Darry.

"Ponyboy's got a crush," he whispered, grinning.

"Uh... hey, Cherry. I mean, Sherri," Ponyboy said. "Uh, this is Ponyboy. I was wondering if you could come over to my house-" he looked over at his brothers. _In half an hour, _Darry mouthed. "-in half an hour."

"Oh," Cherry said, sounding a bit taken aback. "And why do you need me there? That's where..." her voice got funny there, all spiteful and bitter. "... _Dallas_ is staying, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah," Ponyboy said nervously. This wasn't going well at all. "Listen, Cherry, he's really depressed, and we think he's going to kill himself. Can't you come over so he can apologize?"

"Why should I care if he dies?" Cherry snapped. "He's a terrible person."

"But he's a _person_," Ponyboy persisted. "Please, Cherry? I think of you Socs as people, you should think of us the same."

Cherry sighed, and it was heard through the phone line. "Fine, Ponyboy. But only because you asked like that. And someone needs to be watching us at all times."

"We can do that," Ponyboy said. "Thanks, Cherry." He hung up.

"Too bad you'd never be able to date her, Dally'd kill you," Soda said in a rather off-topic way, grinning at his blushing little brother. "So, what did she say?"

"She's gonna be here in half an hour, but someone's gotta be watching them the whole time," Ponyboy said.

"I'll do it," Darry said. Under his breath, he said, "Like I could break up a rape."

* * *

Something was up, and it hadn't gone unnoticed by Dally, when he arrived at the Curtis house. The whole gang jumped when he arrived. They were talking nervously before he came in, and they kept staring at him when they thought he wasn't looking.

"All right, what is it?" Dally said as they were watching TV together. "Ya can tell me, whatever." The greasers looked at Darry like they were asking for permission talk. The oldest boy shook his head. "Or not," Dallas muttered. "That's fine too."

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Ponyboy, who was eating popcorn, spilled it all over his lap when he jumped at the noise. He leapt up from the couch and sped to the door. Dallas raised an eyebrow, but when no one bothered to explain Ponyboy's behavior, he slumped against the back of the couch again.

Ponyboy opened the door to find Cherry Valance standing there. She was wearing a very pretty light purple dress, and her red hair was combed away from her face. Ponyboy was going to say hello, but he found himself to stunned to do that.

"Hey, Ponyboy," Cherry said, smiling at him. She looked around the house uneasily, examining the dishes stacked in the sink, the ceiling fan that looked dangerously close to falling down.

"Hi," the boy said shyly.

Dally knew who was there. He saw her out of the corner of his eye, heard her voice. His muscles clenched up and he looked like he was going to belt someone else.

"How are you doing, Sherri?" asked Darry, getting up from his place on the couch. He noticed that Dally wasn't the only one flinching. "Calm down, he's just as scared as you are," he added quietly.

"Dallas, get over here," said Darry. Cherry was staring at the mark on Darry's face.

"Who did that?" she asked the oldest Curtis.

"Dally did," he said reluctantly. "But don't worry, I'll be watching you two." Cherry nodded, still nervously as ever.

Dallas got up off the couch slowly, stretching and nervously cracking his knuckles. To Cherry, it looked like he was preparing to hit her or something. She shivered at the sight of his face. Dally looked so... depressed. He looked drastically different from the laughing, dirty-talking greaser boy she first met. He even looked different from the sobbing, grief-stricken boy that had raped her. It was odd, how much death could change a person.

"Hey," Dally said, looking down at the ground. He didn't want to look the girl he had raped in the eyes. He knew he'd probably grab the nearest blunt object and smash his skull with it. All he saw was his dirty sneakers and Cherry's pristine white dress shoes.

"Um, you want to talk?" Cherry asked, trying her very hardest to not run away from him.

"Sure, whatever," said Dally, still not looking directly at her.

"Let's go outside with this," said Darry, who was watching their not-so-successful conversation. Maybe being away from the gang would help.

Cherry and Dally followed him outside. They started just walking down the sidewalk. There was nowhere else to go, really. Cherry looked so out-of-place among the broken streetlights and signs for bars. They walked pretty slowly, like they were going to talk, but both of them were waiting for the other person to talk first. Darry trailed maybe ten feet behind them cautiously.

Cherry broke the silence. "I didn't help plan what my friends did to you," she told him. "If that makes you feel any better." She realized they were in the same boat. She was angry at him because of her rape. He was angry at him because of the Socs that raped him.

"It don't," Dally snapped. But his voice wasn't as angry as it should be, Cherry noted. His right eye twitched. "It happened. It's over now. I'm fine." It was very obvious he wasn't fine at all. Finally, he looked up, but it was to look at a greaser with a pack of cigarettes hanging out of his pocket. Dally plucked them right out, and both greasers kept walking. Dally started smoking, and eventually was forced to look up.

"You ready for the rumble?" offered Cherry, trying to make casual conversation.

To her surprise, Dally smirked and said, "Ya bet I am." The fumes of cigarette smoke hit Cherry's nose, and she coughed.

"Dallas," she said, clearing his throat of the smog. "I know you don't want to talk about it, but you have to sometimes." She took a nervous breath, hoping he wouldn't lash out at her. "What happened that night."

Dally angrily walked faster. "Damn right I ain't talkin' 'bout it," he said. After a pause, he said, "Fine. What?"

"Why me?" Cherry asked, voicing the question that had been in her mind since the night of the rape.

"'Cause you was there at the wrong time," Dally answered. "And I didn't know what I was thinkin'." Cherry nodded. That was probably as good of an answer as she was getting out of the boy.

"So, Dally," she said. "About... Johnny."

"It's my fault he died," Dally said. "If I'd 'a gotten him outta that stupid church earlier he'd be 'live an' well. It was my fault, too, for not warnin' them about all that coal dust in the church from the old days. If they'd 'a known, they wouldn't have been smokin'. And that's how the fire started, too! An' I was too busy knockin' out Ponyboy to run into the church an' get Johnnycake in time." It was obvious all that was bothering Dally, because after he'd said it, he looked a bit more relaxed.

"First of all, none of that is your fault," Cherry said firmly. She was thinking about how crazy it was that she was comforting a rapist, but she still kept talking. "You couldn't have stopped that beam from hitting his back."

"I coulda tried," Dally said. "Maybe it would've hit me then. Then everything'd be better."

Cherry glanced helplessly at Darry. Darry didn't hear them, but he figured it was because Dally was acting depressed again. He shrugged at her, not knowing what she should do any better than she did.

Maybe it was the look on his face like he was holding back tears. Maybe it was the way he looked so sad. Maybe it was because he was actually showing a bit of caring and guilt. Maybe it was just because he was Dallas Winston, and he always got what he wanted.

Whatever the reason, Cherry stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him full on the mouth.

Dally's eyes widened for a second, surprised. He nearly fell right off the sidewalk curb. But he caught himself, and Cherry. He held her close, his body trembling as he kissed her back. The kiss was rough but passionate, and Dally's tongue intertwined with Cherry's.

When they needed air, Dally quickly stepped back, nervous. "Did I make ya do that? Did I force ya?" he asked. He was scared that, unknowingly, he was just forcing her.

"No," Cherry said. "I did it on my own." Dally still looked like he was going to cry, even though his lips were swollen and red from the kiss.

That's how Darry knew Two-Bit _was_ right- Dally was just too far gone.


	18. Pangs of Guilt

**Just to let you all know, this fic is going to be around 25 chapters long. I'm really going to miss it, but let's just say... I have another one planned.**

**Also, thanks to everyone who's reviewed this! Your reviews make writing this so much better. **

**Syrina Kamar asked what PTSD is. PTSD is short for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The name explains it better than I can, so I'll leave it at that.**

* * *

"It's just something we have no control over, and that's what destiny is  
But no more worries, rest your head and go to sleep  
Maybe one day we'll wake up and this will all just be a dream..."

-from "Mockingbird" by Eminem

* * *

_"Holy fuck, kid," said Dallas, walking over to where Johnny was lying in the lot. "It's too warm for ya ta be out here. You'll get heat stroke." Dally had had heat stroke before, and it wasn't an experience he wanted Johnny to feel. _

_"Dad's drunk again," Johnny said, yawning. His black hair stuck up all over his head, and Dally could tell he had been sleeping in the lot. "I can't go back there, I'll get my face beat in." Dally just nodded. He really felt for this kid. He knew what it was like to have a dad that hated him. He sighed and sat down on the ground next to Johnny. _

_"Johnnykid?" Dally asked, lighting a weed. "Ya ever know about my dad?" Johnny shook his head and leaned back against a stolen couch cushion he used as a pillow. "Well, he was a lot like yours, 'cept he didn't have ta get drunk to beat me. He was just crazy. Had been forever." Dally settled against the cushion too. "Even made me give him a handjob and a blowjob or two," said the blond greaser in disgust. He looked over at the younger boy, concern in his blue eyes. "Ya dad ever does that ta you, ya tell me and I'm gettin' him back."_

_Dally felt a trickle of something wet and warm on the back of his neck. He figured a damn bird had shitted on him or something, but when he felt his neck with his fingers, they came away bloody._

_"Oh, sorry, Dal," Johnny said quickly. "It's nothin'." Dally then noticed that Johnny's hair was matted in some spots with blood._

_"Jesus Christ," Dally said. "What'd he do ta ya?"_

_"Potato peeler," said Johnny, trying to wipe the blood off his friend's neck. "Hey, Dal? You got anywhere to sleep?" Dallas pondered this. He could always go to Buck's, but he could never get any sleep there. And he didn't have a home to call his own._

_"Nah," said Dally. "Ya mind sharin' the lot tonight?" Dally had slept in much worse places, and he was with his best friend anyway. _

_"Nope, I don't mind," Johnny said. He got up and walked behind an oak tree. He came back with a few blankets and another ratty couch cushion. "Here you go," he said, throwing them to Dally. _

_"Thanks, kid," Dally said. He stretched his limbs and relaxed, pulling the blanket over him and putting the cushion under his aching head. "You're real nice." Johnny smiled contentedly and laid down on his own cushion. _

_Dally's nostrils were filled with the scent of mold and wet fabric from the couch cushion, but he didn't mind. His room in Buck's place wasn't much cleaner. He turned over onto his back and stared up at the pitch-black sky. He couldn't sleep, though. He was too busy remembering what life was like for him in New York. Beside him, Johnny had fallen asleep and was snoring softly. _

_Johnny woke up screaming that night. He struggled when Dally put an arm around him, trying to calm him down. "Stop!" Johnny screamed, tears running down his cheeks. "I don't want to be beat no more!" When he realized it was only Dallas next to him, he relaxed slightly. _

_"You okay?" Dally asked. Apparently he wasn't, because Johnny burst into tears and buried his head in Dally's shirt. Dally was a bit taken aback, but he still patted Johnny's back as he cried._

_"It's all right, kid," Dally said. "It's okay, I ain't lettin' no one beat ya up."_

* * *

He was standing by a grave. He couldn't see the front of the headstone, so he had no clue who was buried there. He only recognized the torn-up ground near the grave. It was the place where he had been raped.

Dally turned around, hearing a sound. Out of the trees came Johnny, small and vulnerable as usual. He was wearing the clothes he had been put in for his funeral.

"Johnny?" asked Dally disbelievingly. Johnny just nodded, and Dally strode toward him, grinning. He held out his arms and wrapped them around the small boy-

-but it wasn't the boy. It was another figure, a vaguely humanoid thing with fiery yellow eyes and a sneering face. Dally stepped back quickly, but the thing had already grabbed him. He screamed and twisted around in its arms. The thing dragged Dallas through the cemetery at the speed of light, trees and memorials zooming past. Dally struggled still.

They came to an open grave. The figure dumped Dally into the hole, and when he hit the bottom, his head cracked against a piece of rock. His vision swam, but he still saw the figure throwing dirt on him, burying him alive. He spat out dirt and yelled, but he couldn't get up.

* * *

"DALLY!" a voice screamed in his ear. "Wake up, Dally! You're just having a nightmare!" The voice was Darry's, it sounded like. But then again, the thing Dally had seen looked like Johnnycake. Dally screamed wordlessly and thrashed around.

"Darry, just hold him down!" Sodapop's voice said. Dally wouldn't look at them. His eyes were squinted shut, and he didn't want to see anything but black. Footsteps thunked by him loudly. Dally realized he was lying on the floor.

"Dal, calm down, it was only a dream," said Darry's voice. Slowly, Dallas stop struggling. He opened his eyes nervously, but all he saw was the ceiling of Darry's room.

Darry's face popped into his line of vision. His eyebrows were creased together. "Dally, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Dally said, not wanting to seem like a weak idiot. He glared up at Darry, trying not to think of being buried alive by that devil thing. "Will ya let me up?"

The larger boy let him get up. Images of gravestones, demons, and Johnny were trickling through Dallas's head until it hurt. He shivered, and rubbed his bare arms.

"Want to talk about it?" Darry asked, probably trying to be nice. But Dally took it as an insult. Of course he didn't want to talk about it! Dally raised a fist and punched wildly. Before his fist could hit Darry, something darted in front of him. Dally's fist hit someone's skinny stomach that was definitely not Darry's. There was a muffled yelp, and Dally realized he had hit Ponyboy.

"Oh God oh God oh God," Dally breathed. "I ain't meanin' to, God, I'm sorry, kid-" Ponyboy started to cry, holding his ribs.

"Get_ away_ from him," said Darry, his voice quiet and dangerous. "I mean it, Dallas. That was your last chance. You're out of here." He pointed at the door. "Go."

"But I didn't-" Dallas started, almost begging.

"He said, get out," Soda said, walking in and gathering Ponyboy in a hug. "It's okay, Pony, he ain't gonna hurt you again."

Something broke in Dally's heart then. He couldn't stand the look on Ponyboy's face as he cried- because Dally had hurt him. He couldn't stand the look on Sodapop's face as he whispered soothing things to Ponyboy. He couldn't stand the furious look on Darry's face and the way he was pointing at the door.

Face pale with shame, Dally walked out the door like a dog that had gotten kicked, tail between his legs.

He walked down the streets of the greasers' side of town, getting plenty of weird looks. He realized too late he was only wearing his pajama pants. But he wasn't about to go back to the Curtis house to get his clothes and belongings.

_I just broke a kid's ribs!_ Dally thought angrily. _And it wasn't just some random kid- oh, no, it was Ponyboy fuckin' Curtis! How stupid can you get? _Dally stomped down the street, hugging his body to keep warm. Eventually, he made his way to Buck's house. It was so quiet it was almost creepy. Dally knocked on the door.

"Buck?" he shouted. "I got thrown out the house." Dally heard Buck's footsteps coming to the door, and he tried to act as tough as possible. Not like a terrible person who hits kids.

"Dally?" Buck asked, opening the door. His eyes widened as he saw his friend standing, shivering, on his porch. "Holy shit! Get in here, Dal, you're gonna freeze!" Dallas gratefully walked into the house.

"What happened?" he asked. "You don't look hurt or anythin'."

"I was fighting with Darry, and I hit Ponyboy," Dally explained. "An' all my stuff is still over there, an' Darry told me to get out. So I left."

"Jesus, Dal," Buck said. "I'll go over and get your stuff. Go up to your old room." Buck pulled on a jacket and shoes and walked out the door, muttering to himself.

Dally walked up the creaky wooden stairs and down the hall to the room he used to practically live in. It was in the same condition he left it in- dirty, messy-sheeted, and just normal. He sighed at the familiarity of it and sat down on the bed. He stared at the wall, trying not to think about anything at all except simple things.

He didn't want to think about the fire. He didn't want to think about the heater hidden near the vacant lot. He didn't want to think about Cherry.

So, naturally, those were the only things he was thinking of.

* * *

Buck walked back into Dally's room, carrying two garbage bags full of clothes, shoes, and Dally's few personal objects. "Here you go," he said, dumping them on the bed.

"How did ya not get clocked ta next week by Superman over there?" Dally asked.

"He wasn't there. The whole house was empty. Probably everyone's at the ER with Pony," Buck told him. "Look, Dally, I'll let you stay here as long as you need, free, 'cause I know you don't got money to pay for it."

"I don't," Dally said. "Thanks." He took off his pajama pants and pulled on a pair of jeans. "Hey, Buck?" he asked as he was putting on a shirt.

"What?" Buck asked, about to leave the room. He turned back.

"I ain't gonna off myself in here," Dally said. He felt like Buck should know this, like he should know that he wouldn't have to check Dally's room to make sure he wasn't lying in a pool of blood with his wrists slashed.

"Okay, Dal," Buck say slowly. "That's good." He walked down the hall. Dallas shut the door. He leaned up against it, and ran his hands through his hair. He thought about what he had done.

_Are you kidding? _he thought. _You're all guilty and shit, but the kid's fourteen! You've killed fucking two-year olds! _That was true. But he'd never hurt anyone he was actually friends with that bad, except Tim Shepard- but he usually swung first. The thing was, it was just wrong. It was one thing back in New York, it was one thing when he was hurting strangers. But this was one of his gang. It'd be like punching Johnnycake.

The thought of punching Johnny made Dally feel sick to his stomach.

_In here, I'm not going to off myself. But someday, somehow, some way- I'm going to, and it's going to be a show, dammit,_ he thought grimly.


	19. The Things That Happen Beside Graves

**To maintain my T rating, I just put 'bodily fluids'... hope you enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

"Not to sound like a martyr  
But it's getting harder than I thought  
To not just go crazy, trapped in this house, I'm about to just snap..."

-from "Take From Me" by Bad Meets Evil

* * *

_"Keep off, all right? I can do it myself," Dallas snapped at his friends as they tried to load him into their convertible. The boy accidentally put weight on his broken left leg and let out a scream, collapsing to the ground. _

_"Told ya, ya can't," insisted one of the Heaters. "Now get in. Ya gonna die if ya don't." It was true, and Dally knew it. He had a broken and shot leg. If it got infected, he could very well die. And he couldn't even walk. _

_Dally let himself be lifted into the car. When he hit the seat, he had to clench his teeth together to keep from crying in pain. The sky spun in lopsided circles above him, and he groaned at the seasick sensation. _

_"C'mon, drive! Or those damn First Streeters will be after us in a second!" he said as the boys leapt into the car. The car started speeding down the street, and Dally felt like he might be sick. The stars that speckled the night sky and the tops of skyscrapers were the only things Dally could use to know his location. He also knew they were being followed- he heard the people in the car behind him. Undoubtedly, they were the First Streeters:_

_"We shot up Winston pretty good, didn't we?"_

_"Damn right!" Cheering followed._

_"Try ta see if ya can get 'im from the car!" _

_Dally flinched and yelled to his gang, "DUCK DOWN!" The car swerved over the curb as everyone ducked under their seats. The guy in the passenger seat was too late, though, and was hit in the neck with a bullet. There was a terrible scream. Dallas realized who it was that was shot and screamed, "JAMES!"_

_"Calm down, Dal, we're almost there!" said the driver. If Dally could see him, he would see that his knuckles where white on the steering wheel. In the passenger seat, Dally's second-in-command, James, was letting out quiet moans._

_"Dal?" asked James's voice, rendered quiet. _

_"What?" Dallas said from the back seat. "What is it, Jim?" he asked, nervous. His leg was metaphorically killing him, but he knew that the bullet in James's head was _literally_ killing him. Behind the Heaters' car, the First Streeters cheered at a job well done._

_"Why are we even fightin' them?" James asked his leader quietly. Dally couldn't answer- he didn't even know. Then, silently, James bled out in the passenger seat, slumping down where he sat._

_"YOU ASSHOLES!" howled Dallas in anger at the First Streeters behind him. Dally reached into his pocket for his heater. He hit his leg and winced. He dragged himself out of his lying-down position and shot the driver of the First Streeters' car. He fired again and again, and was rewarded with screams of pain. _

_"Dally, stop shootin'!" shouted the driver of the Heaters' car. Dallas relented and put away his heater. _

_There was a dead boy in the car. Shot down because of Dally. His stomach clenched, and he prayed that he wouldn't get sick. He laid down again in the seat, the cushion like a pillow for him. He stared up at the sky, telling himself he couldn't cry. That wasn't what gang leaders did when one of their boys died._

_The sky kept spinning, and turning from black into purple, blue, red, and so many other colors. Dally watched it with wonder. The sky clouded over with a pleasant orange and pink mist. It looked beautiful. Dally watched it. How had he missed this? Was the sky like this every night? Or was he just going crazy?_

_When the First Streeters had stopped following the Heaters, the Heaters' car stopped in the hospital parking lot. "Get out, Dal," said a voice Dallas dimly recognized. "Tribute. C'mon, Dal, don't pass out..." _

_Dallas got up out of the car with the help of his friends. He loaded his gun. He leaned against the car, broken leg bent off the ground. He knew what they were doing. They were going to pay traditional tribute to James by firing their guns into the air. _

_As leader of the Heaters, Dally was obligated to fire first. Then everyone else would fire two seconds after. Dally shakily raised his heater in the air. He looked at the cadaver of his former second-in-command. Blood stained the seat. Dally looked away. He set his face in a stony expression, and fired his heater into the air. __The Heaters moved away quickly from the rain of bullets after they all fired off. _

_Why were they fighting them, anyway? The First Streeters were a bunch of wannabe hoods. The Heaters were the real deal, why where they messing with them? Why was any of them fighting each other? They were just killing off everyone they cared about._

_In anger, Dallas stomped his broken leg on the ground, and blacked out._

* * *

"See, kid," Steve told the out-of-breath Ponyboy as they walked through the cemetery. "Now you know what it feels like. Fuckin' hurts to get your ribs broke, don't it?"

"Sure does," Ponyboy said, grimacing. "How much farther do we have to go?"

"We're almost there," Darry said. "Feeling all right?"

"Hurts to breathe," Pony said, tramping through the grass. He was panting in great gulps of air. Darry nodded sympathetically. He was still angry at Dallas for hitting his youngest brother. The next time he saw him, he was going to get it- hard across the face.

"Here we are!" Sodapop said, running ahead of the group. He stopped running when he got to the two gravestones. "Haven't been here in a while..." he said under his breath.

The greasers stood in front of the graves of Mr. and Mrs. Curtis. The gravestones were well-kept, neat white marble. The Curtis boys had picked out the gravestones. 'Took a bullet for them' was inscribed on Mr. Curtis's grave. On Mrs. Curtis's grave, 'Wrong place, wrong time'. The remaining Curtises had thought up the inscriptions too.

"Jesus, I sure miss 'em," Two-Bit said, taking a swig from a beer can he was carrying around.

The greasers all stared at those two slabs of marble, and remembered.

"Remember the night Dad came back from the war?" asked Ponyboy. "When we were all partying at the house?" Darry smiled at him.

"I sure do," he said. "And how we all played cards together for a while?"

"And Johnny accidentally drank from my glass and got real crocked?" Two-Bit chortled.

"That was hilarious," Soda said, grinning. "The poor little thing had no idea, too."

"Remember how we met Dal?" asked Darry. "When Mom just about beat him up, because she thought he was a Soc?" A bit of a dark cloud came over the group as they thought of Dallas.

"And he didn't know if he was a Soc or a greaser, and when we asked, he said he was a _heater_?" said Two-Bit. "I still remember the look on your old lady's face!"

"That was the name of his old gang, Two-Bit," said Soda. "You know what I'm remembering? I'm thinkin' of how we used to have a dog."

"I remember!" Ponyboy said cheerfully, despite his pain. "It was a golden retriever, and its name was Rusty!"

"Dad brought it home one day, because it was starving and needed a home," Darry reminisced.

"Remember how Johnny and Dal couldn't believe that Mrs. Curtis's cooking was real when they first ate at the house?" Steve asked, grinning widely. The smile dropped off his face in a second, though. "I wish they were here. I wish they were _all _here." Mrs. Curtis. Mr. Curtis. Johnny. Dallas.

"So do I," Soda said to his best friend. "But we better not think on it too much, or we'll all end up on the Suicide Watch with Dal." He clapped his friend playfully on the shoulder.

"Hey, guys?" Ponyboy asked quietly as they walked back to the car at the edge of the cemetery. "Can we see Johnny's grave?" Darry raised his eyebrows. He thought about it. Dally had been raped there. The Socs might have vandalized the headstone. But then again, there'd been rapes all over Tulsa. And the Curtis parents' graves weren't vandalized.

"Why not?" he said. "C'mon, I think it's down this way." He turned and started walking, leading his friends to the grave of Johnny Cade.

They were talking quietly to each other as they walked, about memories, about the people they missed. Two-Bit pointed at the ground by Johnny's grave. "Damn," he said quietly to Darry. "You know, no wonder Dal wants to die. If I was him and got raped so bad it tore up the ground I would too." The grass was thrown aside in clumps, exposing raw dirt, which was covered in bodily fluids. Darry nodded.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of white. He turned quickly, and saw a familiar mop of white-blond hair sticking out from behind Johnny's headstone. "Dallas?" he guessed. He was right. The boy sprang up from the ground and reached in the waistband of his pants quickly. He pulled out his heater and aimed it at them.

"Don't say a fuckin' word or I'll shoot," Dally said dangerously. He looked tough, but if you saw his eyes, they were terrified.

"It's not loaded," Darry said. Dally hesitated. Then he dropped his arm.

"You're right, it ain't," said Dally. He quickly pulled a switchblade out of his otherwise empty wallet. "But I can hurt ya just fine with this."

"We're not looking for a fight, Dal," said Steve. "Put down the knife. We was just going to go see Johnny." Dally's fingers clenched around the knife tighter. With an angry shout, he twisted around and impaled his blade in a tree.

"You-" he pointed at Darry, his hand shaking. "You're lookin' for a fight with me, ain't ya. Well, here I am. Just fuckin' hit me." Dallas's blue eyes darted over to Ponyboy, looking at the brace for his ribs. He felt sick with guilt.

Darry took a step forward. "Don't!" Two-Bit said. "Darry, stop!" But Darry had already kicked out, his foot slamming into Dally's crotch. Dally doubled over in pain, but he managed to punch Darry back. Darry tackled him to the ground and pulled his head back by his hair. Dally winced, gasping for breath. Darry's heavy body was crushing him against the earth.

"You complete _dick_, Dallas Winston," Darry said. He spat, right on Dallas's face. Dally shrank back from the older boy. "First you punch my little brother, then you pull a fucking _heater_ on us?" Dally struggled under Darry's weight. Darry's fist slammed into his jaw, and Dally screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Stop it!" Ponyboy wailed, apparently not wanting to get Dally back _that_ bad.

Dally hit Darrel in the stomach as hard as he could. When he was distracted by the pain, Dally rolled out from under him and stood behind Johnny's grave.

"Ya wouldn't," he said shakily. "Ya wouldn't fight me here, of all places. Right on Johnnycake's grave." He clenched his fists as Darry got up. "Dammit, why do we gotta fight? Ya do know, ya'll are all I got. It ain't right for us ta be fightin'..."

Darry punched Dally in the chest so hard he flew back a few feet. "Stop, Dar!" Sodapop yelled. "You're gonna kill him!" Dally laid motionless on the ground.

"Stop fighting," Ponyboy said, grabbing Darry's arm. "He _wants_ you to kill him. Don't you not want to give him what he wants?" Darry lowered his fist and looked at his youngest brother, fire in his eyes.

"Fine," he said. "Because you said that, fine."

* * *

Dallas woke up lying next to a headstone of someone he didn't know. He rolled over to get up, and he winced. Why was he hurting so much? Then he remembered- Darry had fought him, and he had lost.

Dally got to his feet and groaned to himself. He saw his newly shoplifted switch stuck in a tree, and he pulled it out. He found his wallet in his pocket. He tucked his switch into it. His heater was in his pocket, but he had lied to Darry. It _was_ loaded. He could've shot his friends. The thought scared him.

He thought of his journal he was supposed to write fifteen good things. He had written 'My friends' on the first line. And he sure as hell planned to scribble it out now.


	20. Tuff and Rash

**This is the longest fic I've ever written, I'm pretty proud of it. What do you think? :)**

* * *

"Sometimes life seems so unfortunate, that's why I don't give a shit  
The poor stay poor, the rich get richer, it's just so disproportionate  
You don't know just what I go through, that's why I would rather show you  
Just how far that I can take it, every rule I'm breaking it..."

-from "Above the Law" by Bad Meets Evil

* * *

_"And that's the end of our territory," said Sodapop to Dally, finished giving him a rather limited tour of Tulsa. "We better get back to the house or the Socs will jump us." _

_"Ain't they the rich kids?" asked Dallas. "So... why'd they jump people? Ain't they stuck-up and ain't wantin' ta get their clothes all dirty?"_

_"Yeah, but they also like jumpin' us," explained Two-Bit. "Want a beer, Dallas?" Dally accepted the drink and chugged it back. The greasers started walking back to the Curtis house._

_"You need a nickname," decided the youngest boy, Ponyboy Curtis. He was only twelve, but he was going to turn thirteen in a week, according to Darry. _

_"Already got one, kid," Dally said. "My ol' gang back in NY called me Dally. Or just Dal."_

_"That works," said Sodapop, chuckling. He rubbed Ponyboy's head, and the kid laughed. "Okay, Dally, tonight, you're gonna meet Steve and Johnny. They're the last of our little group. I gotta warn you, though, Johnny might be kinda scared of you."_

_"Scared?" asked Dallas, clueless. He took a sip of beer. "Why'd he be scared?"_

_"His old man beats him, and he's kinda jumpy," Soda said. "Plus, you're not exactly all friendly-looking." Dally shrugged. _

_"Well, my dad used ta beat me," he said. "Up till the day I left." He glared at the skyline, thinking about his bastard father. _

_"You and Johnny'll get along real well, then," Two-Bit said, patting Dallas on the back. Dally felt like he was back in New York with the Heaters, except he couldn't see a single skyscraper, and nobody had gotten killed yet. _

_Dally's ears perked up as he heard the sound of a car behind them. "Hey, guys, there's someone followin' us," he hissed under his breath._

_"There can't be," whispered Soda reassuringly. He didn't check, though._

_"There is," Dallas insisted. "Turn 'round." They did, and found themselves facing seven boys dressed in fancy clothes. Socs. _

_"Imagine meeting you here," Two-Bit said snidely to them. _

_"Very funny," said one of the Socs, cracking his knuckles. Dally couldn't help but grin at that. They looked like some of the wannabe gangs back in New York. "What're you laughing at, _greaser_?" _

_The word 'greaser' made Dally feel like he had came into a completely new world. Pretty much everyone was greasers back in NY, so no one used it as an insult. More like a compliment. But hearing that Soc say 'greaser' to him made Dally feel like he'd just smelled moldy food. It made him feel like he was shit._

_"Who're you calling a greaser, _Soc_?" Dally said, taking out his heater. "Ya talking ta a fuckin' gang leader."  
_

_"Not of that pitiful group of greasers," said the Soc, smiling cruelly. _

_"Ya know the Heaters, in New York?" Dally said. The Soc nodded. "Good. Ya know my gang then." The Soc actually looked a bit scared, and Dally felt proud that he made one of those stupid rich kids scared. "Now get outta here. This look like ya territory?" Dally fired his gun in the air. The Socs didn't need the warning shot- they were already running back to their car and driving off. _

_"Go, go!" said one of them, and the car screeched down the street, swerving off to the sides occasionally. Dally snickered as they left._

_"You're really the leader of the Heaters?" asked Two-Bit, impressed. "I heard about them."_

_"Yeah, I sure was," Dally said. He put his heater back into his pocket. "Ain't really too big of a deal ta me. I just started the gang when I moved ta the rough side 'a York. We kinda got... outta control." He remembered the girl he found dead on the street corner. He realized then that he actually could've been a father, if the girl was older. He tried to think about what life would be like, caring for a kid. He couldn't imagine it._

_"You bet you did, you've got a rep all the way here," said Two-Bit. "That's pretty tuff." _

_"What does that mean, anyway?" asked Dally. "Ya slang here is real different from where I'm from."_

_"T-U-F-F or T-O-U-G-H?" asked Soda. _

_"Jesus, I don't know. I never went ta school," Dally said. "Which one's the one that ain't slang?"_

_"T-O-U-G-H," said Soda, grinning at Dally's lack of Tulsa slang knowledge and lack of spelling knowledge. "T-U-F-F is the slang. It means sharp, ya know? Cool." Dally nodded. He figured being 'tuff' was just fine with him._

* * *

"Let me get this straight," Dr. Smythe said. "You broke Ponyboy's ribs?" Dallas nodded guiltily, hanging his head. "Goodness, Dallas."

"I'm fuckin' sorry," Dally snapped. "The kid ran in front of Darry and took the blow." He fiddled with the edge of his leather jacket.

"Give me your journal," the therapist said, ignoring his cussing. Dally pulled it out from inside his jacket. Dr. Smythe read his writing, her eyebrows slowly creeping up farther and farther on her forehead. When she was done reading it, she flipped it open to the first page.

"Why did you scribble out-" -she squinted at his messy writing- "-'my friends'?"

"They hate me," the greaser said. "Darry got in a fight with me an' threw me out the house, remember? Ya think ya'd like someone after doin' that ta them?" He glared at the page in the journal.

"Dallas, you need to realize they're grieving for Johnny, too," Dr. Smythe said. "They're confused, angry, and sad. Just not as much as you are." Dally stared at the blank page in his journal some more, like he was trying to see the good things in the world he needed to write. As Dr. Smythe proceeded to close the book, Dally spied a dog-eared page and remembered something.

"Oh, yeah, also wrote somethin' else," Dally said. "Go on, read it. I don't feel like sayin' it aloud." Dr. Smythe bookmarked the dog-eared page with one pudgy finger, and turned to it.

All it said on the paper was, _its getting wurse. _Translated, Dr. Smythe read it as 'it's getting worse'. 'It' must be his depression, or desire to kill himself.

Dally saw her comprehending and couldn't bear to keep his mouth shut any longer. "I've been havin' nightmares 'bout him, I keep thinkin' I shouldn't be alive, and everyone's startin' ta hate me!" He looked miserably at his therapist with pleading eyes.

"As I've said before, they don't hate you, Dallas," Dr. Smythe told him. "But the nightmares and the way you're thinking isn't good at all." Dally nodded nervously.

"It ain't selfish 'a me, right?" the hood asked. "Ta want ta die?" Dr. Smythe thought about this.

"Do you care about anyone alive, Dallas?" she asked him.

"Myself," he said promptly. "No one else."

"Think about it," the therapist prompted him. "Did you feel guilty for hitting Ponyboy? For aiming a gun at Darrel? For raping Cherry?" Dally didn't have to think at all about that.

"Yeah," he said.

"So you care about them," Dr. Smythe said simply. Dally shrugged. He guessed that maybe he did care about his gang. That he did care about Cherry Valance. _But they sure as hell don't care about me!_ he convinced himself. "Dallas, just try not to do anything rash."

"Rash?" he asked, tipping back in his chair. "What does that even mean?"

"Dangerous," Dr. Smythe said. "Crazy. Don't do anything crazy." Dally nodded. He wondered if having a loaded heater was rash. He wondered if taking it to his therapy session was even more rash. Probably. "One last thing, just for the record... you're going to be interviewed tomorrow. The reporters want to get in a good article about the rape, and of course, the church fire and the death of your friend. The police will judge from the interview how well you're coping."

"Fuckin' stupid reporters," Dallas muttered to himself.

"Dallas, do you understand what I'm saying?" asked Dr. Smythe. "You could very well be on the chair in two week's time."

"That's too long ta wait," snapped Dally. He got up and stalked out of the room, leaving Dr. Smythe holding his journal.

* * *

Dally walked back to Buck's angrily. An interview? Multiple newspaper articles? Plus, his eighteenth birthday was coming up. He wanted to be a legal adult before he killed himself. Then maybe people wouldn't think of him as a stupid, grieving, hormonal teenager that killed himself. They'd remember him as an adult whose life spun so out of control that he needed to end it.

A second before the car drove by him, Dally heard it. He started to hit the dirt, but he was too late- a pop bottle smashed against his back, shards of glass flying everywhere, some impaling themselves in Dallas's skin.

"Had a nice little therapy session?" called a voice mockingly as Dally spun around to face the car full of Socs.

"Ya gonna need therapy once we beat ya asses in the rumble," Dallas said venomously. He spat on the sidewalk.

"At least I don't need it already," said a Soc. When Dally kept walking, they shouted, "Hey, did we say you could go?"

"No, but I ain't stickin' 'round ta hear ya jabberin' voices," Dally snapped. He forced his feet to move down the sidewalk in the direction of Buck Merril's house. He felt his fingers stick themselves in his pants and close around his heater.

"What are you doing?" said a Soc, sneering at him.

"What does it look like I'm doin'?" Dallas said.

"Touching your dick," said one Soc, which caused them all to burst into laughter.

The greaser pulled his heater out of his pants and aimed it at them. The Socs' faces turned pale as they saw him cock it. He glared at them.

"Jesus Christ," said one of them. "We're going, we're going. Just don't shoot..." Dally could tell by the looks on their faces that they were remembering how Johnny killed Bob. Dally was remembering it too. He put them at gunpoint until they drove off, though.

When they left, he kept walking. He didn't expect to be jumped, anyway. If the Socs were one thing -aside from a bunch of assholes- they were gun-shy. If someone pulled a gun on them, they knew there was a good chance of them getting shot and dying.

Dally arrived at Buck's, but instead of joining the party that was going on, he went up to his room and bolted the door shut. He wanted time alone, and he wasn't about to have a couple of eager one-night-standers barging into his room.

He set his gun under the bed, thankful that he had been carrying it. He flopped down on his bed face-first and thought about Cherry Valance. Her silky hair in his fingers, her smooth, full lips, and every other part of her...

"Stop," he said aloud, his sharp voice penetrating the silence of his room. "She hates ya!" Dally couldn't help but think about her, though. He didn't want her in the way he wanted her before Johnny died. Before he died, he just was teasing her. Now he was torn up about raping her, and still wanting to fuck her. But she had kissed him first- technically, it wasn't his fault for being attracted to her.

"Ya raped her and she hates ya," Dally said to himself. "Forget it."

He wondered if he should just not waste time, take the heater out from under his bed, and blow his brains out on his pillow.


	21. Shooting Back

**I remembered the flash-forward I had in chapter one, and decided to have Dally be interviewed. Hope you enjoy :) Yes, the flash-forward is actually in this chapter as regular text.**

**Can I just quote the whole song that I'm quoting? Damn. It reminds me a lot of the way Dally loves Johnny (like a brother, this fic isn't slash).**

* * *

"If I know one thing that's true  
It ain't what you say, it's what you do  
And you don't say much, yeah, that's true  
But I listen when you do  
A thousand years go by  
But love don't die..."

-from "Love Don't Die" by The Fray

* * *

_Dallas wanted nothing more than to just turn around and go back to his old apartment. But he couldn't. His family, or what was left of it, had been evicted. The only home they could afford was a grimy, messy apartment in the middle of the worst part of New York. _

_"We're gonna get shot ta death here!" he muttered as he walked into his new home. His father gave him a dirty look. Dally knew that if he wasn't so hungover, Timothy Winston would tan his hide. _

_"Then shoot back," snapped Mr. Winston to his son. Dally knew he wouldn't be much help. He didn't get it- Dally needed to find a way to survive in the wild side, to fit in. Everyone there was in a gang, a greaser, or both. Dally didn't grease his hair, but he was a greaser, all right. He just had no chance of getting into a gang. He was too bossy to just fall back into the motions of a gang. He wanted to be the leader, not just another one of the people._

Shoot back_... he thought. _I can do that.

_He took to wandering the streets, looking at the natives of that area. Gradually, he started using their slang and fitting in a bit. He shoplifted a heater from a gun and ammo store and got enough ammo to last him a lifetime. He started carrying his heater loaded. There was shootings in New York every day, and he wasn't about to die in one. _

_One day, when he was walking to the grocery store to lift some food, someone stopped him on the streets. They were a slightly short, skinny boy with a mop of red hair that was plastered down with hair grease._

_"What gang are ya in?" he asked. "I ain't seen ya in shoot-outs or anythin'."_

_"I ain't in a gang. Yet," Dally said casually. "You in a gang?"_

_"Naw, just dropped outta school. Used ta not have time for a gang," said the boy. "My name's James Richner. Who're you?"_

_"Dallas Winston," Dally said. The gears were spinning in his brain. What if he and this boy could start a gang? Nobody was going to accept a nerdy-looking carrot-top like James into their gang. Dally could get into a gang easy, but he was a leader, not a follower. "Tell ya what, James. Wanna start a gang?"_

OoOoOoO

_Slowly, the gang started to recruit people. Most of them were recruited rather roughly- roughly, meaning they were tackled down in an alley and held at gunpoint- but still, they were willing fighters. _

_"What are we gonna call our gang?" asked Andy, one of the new recruits. "The Fucked-Up Squad? TFS?"_

_"The Devils," suggested another recruit._

_"The... wait, what street is this?" Dallas asked his gang, squinting up at the street sign._

_"Elm Street, can't ya read?" asked Ben, a recruit. _

_"Nah, never been ta school," Dally said, folding his arms. "Could never afford it. Anyway. The Elm Street Devils don't got a ring ta it. It makes me think of a burnin', fiery, hellish elm tree, and that ain't the toughest thing." His gang laughed._

_"Search ya pockets," said the only black boy in the gang, Tom. "Maybe ya got somethin' in there that'd name the gang." Dallas and his gang turned out their pockets. They all had a wide assortment of possible gang names from that:_

_"The cancer sticks."_

_"The matches."_

_"The... bags of pot?"_

_"Get off them drugs," Dally said to the last boy. "We ain't gonna carry ya ta the hospital. I only got one thing in my pocket. As usual." He pulled his loaded heater out of his pocket._

_"The Heaters!" piped up one of the boys. "We could be the Heaters!"_

_"Everyone all right with that?" asked Dallas, looking around. "All right, then. We're the Heaters!" His gang cheered, and he fired his heater into the air in triumph. _

_He had a gang. He had friends. He was getting a rep. He figured he didn't need anything more out of life._

* * *

"Follow me," said Dr. Smythe, waiting outside the building she and Dallas usually had therapy sessions in. He noticed she was dressed in much more expensive clothes than she usually wore. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his old jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket. The therapist and her patient walked to a second-hand-looking car in okay shape. "Get on in," she said when Dally stood there in the street.

"'kay, ma'am," he mumbled, getting into the car. That's how Dr. Smythe knew something was wrong. Dally was never that polite. She looked over at him as she started the car. His hair was sticking up all over as usual. He had a large bruise on his jaw. He looked nervous.

"Dallas, don't worry over this," Dr. Smythe said as they drove down the street toward the newspaper office building. "Just answer their questions, and you'll be fine." She sounded a bit too much like she was trying to convince herself. She didn't want her patient to go on the chair. Not at all. She had gotten a bit attached to him in a grandmotherly way.

"I ain't worryin'," Dally said. He was gripping onto the side of the car and looking like he might be sick. "Not at all."

"If that's the-"

"Way ya feel," finished Dally. "I know, I know." They pulled up in front of the news building. Dally ignored the car door and just jumped over it. He landed on both his feet on the sidewalk, and waited for his elderly therapist to catch up with him. She parked the car and locked the doors before following him. They walked into one of the small rooms used to interview people.

The room was painted completely beige. There was a table with a booth around it, kind of like in a diner. "Sit down, Dallas," said Dr. Smythe. Dally did. "Good luck," she said, before leaving him alone in the room. His fingers twitched nervously.

When he was considering falling asleep, since clearly the reporters were taking their own sweet time, the door slammed open. Dally turned toward the door and was immediately handcuffed. A reporter walked into the room, and the cycle began.

"You were originally from New York?" asked the reporter. Dally tried not to look at her cleavage. He bet the reason he was cuffed was so he wouldn't rape anyone. His stomach twisted.

"Uh-huh," he said.

"And you ran away from your home and ended up here?" she asked. Dally decided just to look at the ground. He tried desperately not to get turned on by the young, pretty reporter.

"What? I bet ya woulda ran away if ya father was beatin' ya and rapin' ya and-" Dally started. "Oh shit. Shit, shit. Can ya just pretend I never said that?" He wanted to bash his skull in. He told himself not to tell anyone but his friends about that. And as for the raping part, he had only told the Heaters and Johnnycake.

"If you wouldn't like that information in the public eye," said the reporter coolly.

"I wouldn't," Dally said, relieved that that wasn't going to go into the newspaper. He'd die of embarrassment before he could get a chance to off himself. "Uh, I did."

The reporter nodded. "Tell me about Johnny Cade," she said. Dally startled.

"Uh... me an' him was real good friends. He was real quiet, and I did all the talkin' a lot. He listened ta me, which a lot 'a people don't do. When he was upset or sad or got beat up, he'd come ta me, and I'd try ta cheer him up. When I lost it sometimes and started cryin' or gettin' real angry, he was there. Sometimes, we didn't even talk to each other. We'd just stand next ta each other, and we'd know that both of us ain't in a talkin' mood. He was like the little brother I never had," Dallas told the reporter.

"What was going through your mind during when you assaulted and raped Sherri?" asked the reporter.

"I don't even know. I was just real angry, so I took it out on her. It wasn't her fault," Dally added, remembering the way she asked him 'Why me?' when they last talked. "I wasn't thinking when I did that."

"But that doesn't answer my question," said the reporter.

"Do I look like I care?" Dally snapped.

Reporter upon reporter came in. Some asked him about his friends. He answered fairly truthfully, leaving out things like the rape, his being kicked out of the house, and the graveside fight with Darry. The reporters quoted his speech from Johnnycake's funeral back at him, and he told them that it wasn't pre-written. The reporters asked him about New York. For that, he kept his mouth shut. The reporters asked him about his therapy, and if he was getting any better.

"I been havin' nightmares an' I can't find any good in the world," Dally said then. "I doubt I'm gettin' any better."

But the one question the reporters always asked was: "What was going through your mind during when you assaulted and raped Sherri?" And Dally fell into the pattern of answering them with the same answer every time.

"Last one, Winston," said a cop, letting another reporter in the room. It was a sharply dressed woman who was undoubtedly living on the Socs' side. She carried a clipboard and even had her nails painted. Dally sneered at her. If she had sons, they'd probably jumped him once or twice. She asked all the usual questions. Dally answered them flatly. He couldn't wait to get out of there. All the questions was making him think of the night Johnny died, the night of the rape.

"Mr. Winston," said the reporter, her elaborately painted nails clicking against her clipboard. "I'd like you to describe what was going through your head during the... incident."

The cold metal of the handcuffs strained against Dally's clenched fists. He fought to keep his face emotionless, but if you looked close you could see the pain in his eyes. Pain and anger, bottled up, weighing heavy on his shoulders.

"Mr. Winston," repeated the reporter quietly. Dally's head swam as he tried to find the right words for what he was feeling.

"I just... I didn't know what the fuck I..." Dally stammered. Why now, of all the many times he'd answered this very question, did he choke up? He knew what he did. He knew it was horrible and wrong. He knew it was no one's fault but his own. But he just couldn't say what he was thinking aloud. "It wasn't her fault and I wasn't thinking," he finally remembered. He'd said that line so many times it was branded into his memory.

"But that doesn't answer my question" was what the reporter would say. Dally knew. That's what everyone said after he said his line.

Surprisingly, she didn't say that. Instead, she cleared her throat and said, "Mr. Winston, how do you feel now?" The question make Dally freeze. None of the reporters had asked him that. He didn't disguise the truth at all, and said,

"I feel like shit."


	22. Legally

**This chapter is just too long to have a flashback. It'd have to be a whole a separate chapter, and that would distract from the plot, so... no flashback.**

**And since I can't reply to guest reviews, here's my reply to XDNation. **

**Thanks, that was really nice of you to say! Age is just a number when it comes to writing, remember that. The tips I'd give are to write like you are the character, and you're experiencing what they are, and to use sensory details. Good luck, you stay gold too. :)**

**Also, nadine1231966, you've reviewed a _lot. _Thank you too!**

* * *

"Here comes the rain and thunder now  
Nowhere to run, to run to now  
I've disappeared, you'll wonder how  
Looking for me, I'm underground..."

-from "Underground" by Eminem

* * *

"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me. Happy birthday, dear Dallas. Damn I miss ya, Johnny," Dally sang quietly to the tune of "Happy Birthday to You". He knew it was stupid, childish, out-of-tune, and just plain retarded. But he couldn't help it.

He sat in the cemetery by Johnny's grave. His fingers traced the letters in Johnny's name over and over so much Dally was sure the stone would rub down. J-O-H-N-N-Y C-A-D-E. 1-9-5-1 1-9-6-7. N-O-T-H-I-N-G G-O-L-D C-A-N S-T-A-Y. He wondered what Johnny would do if he was alive and knew it was Dally's eighteenth birthday. They'd probably go to one of Buck's parties, and Dally would try to hook Johnny up with a girl he wasn't too scared of.

Dally sighed and kept tracing the letters. "What is it like ta be dead, Johnnycake?" he asked. "Did it hurt for ya at all? I bet it did." He didn't expect Johnny to answer, but he still asked him questions. "Hey, Johnny, I got quoted in the paper. 'magine that, right? It was from the speech I made at ya funeral. 'He'd give his life for someone, pretty much anyone, and that's how he went down'," Dallas said through his cancer stick. "Glory, what was I on when I said that? It was a real corny speech too, Johnnycake. Hope ya didn't mind."

There was a heavy gust of wind, and Dally thought he heard someone walking behind him. He spun around quickly, pulling his heater. There was no one there.

"See, I'm gettin' paranoid," Dally continued. "I keep gettin' these nightmares 'bout ya. They're real fucked-up, an' most of them are in here. Guess that's why I don't come see ya so often. That an' the Socs. Did ya know we're havin' a rumble? We're gonna get them back, Johnny. I'll get them for killin' ya. Actually, I guess they didn't really kill ya. It was the fire. But they made ya run off. Wait, that was me. I guess that's all the reason for what I'm 'bout ta say."

Dallas took a deep breath and put his heater back in his pocket. He looked up at the sunset that covered the sky, then back down at the grave. "I'm gonna see ya mighty soon, Johnny. Them people on this earth don't care about me, an' I'm just plainly a terrible person. So I figure, what's the use 'a livin'?" He looked around his for possible eavesdropping Socs. When he found none, he said, "I'll be seein' ya real soon. Real, real soon."

He laid down on his back, staring at the geese flying over him. He talked about his nightmares, about that poem 'Nothing Gold Can Stay'. He interpreted it to mean that if there was gold, you know, like in a jewelry shop, it wouldn't stay there, because he or Two-Bit would steal it. Dally talked about how he wanted to see a sunset before he died. That was one of his reasons for watching the sky just then. He told Johnny about the upcoming rumble.

"Just where we thought he'd be," said a quiet voice behind Dallas.

He rolled over, got to his feet, and started running as fast as he could out of the cemetery. For a minute, he thought he was in one of his dreams, but he realized the monsters running after him were humans, Socs. They were whooping and screaming insults after the fleeing greaser until he could barely run anymore, he wanted so badly to turn around and shoot them.

_I just gotta get to a store, so it can look like I'm an innocent victim..._ Dally thought wildly. He burst out the edge of the cemetery, ready to run into a drugstore. Then he recognized it- it was the one he had robbed right before he raped Cherry. He remembered he wasn't allowed in it anymore.

Still, he hammered on the door with his fists. "LET ME IN!" he hollered. The manager saw him and said something too quiet for him to hear. All the customers dived behind shopping carts and magazine racks. "I AIN'T GONNA SHOOT!" But he had a gun, and it was loaded, this time. Who was to say he wouldn't? He pointed behind him. "I'M- GETTING- JUMPED!" he bellowed.

The door bolted shut. Dally ran down the street as the Socs came out of the cemetery. They started running on the other side of the street, and Dally sped up even more. He decided the only place he'd be welcome in was Buck's house. The problem was, it was pretty far away. He realized with dread that he'd have to go to the Curtis house. He turned around, to see if the Socs were smart enough to run in front of him and cut him off. Fortunately, they weren't- but what was that in their hands?

_They have heaters!_ Dallas thought, panicking. _I'm dead, I'm good as dead!_ Sure, he wanted to die, just not at the hands of a gang of Socs. He didn't pull his own gun, though. He knew if he did, there'd be a shoot-out. _"Live by the weapon, die by the weapon."_ Someone -maybe Mrs. Curtis?- had said it to him once. It was fucking right, wasn't it?

Dally was reminded sickeningly of another night he was running through Tulsa like that. It was the night that he had raped Cherry. Only this time, his heater was loaded, and he was the victim. The Socs were running faster. They'd saved up their energy. They were level with Dallas, about to cut him off-

He debated on pulling his gun and having a shoot-out, and dying, but then he saw what house he was in front of.

He wrenched down a few planks in the newly built wooden fence. The Curtis brothers probably built it to keep him out. He gritted his teeth and tried not to pant too loud and he flew up the steps and hurtled through the door.

There was a crash that made every greaser in the Curtis house flinch, as Dally belly-flopped onto the wooden floor. He hopped to his feet and yelled "LOCK THE DAMN DOOR!" When no one did -they were too busy trying to defend the house from him- he did himself. But that didn't do any good. One of the windows shattered, and glass rained down on Steve, who was sitting under it.

"They've got heaters?" asked Darry. Dally gulped in air and nodded. He pushed the bolt that locked the door harder into place. "Jesus Christ!" Darrel muttered. Suddenly, Dally let out a startled yelp and crumpled to the ground.

"Dal?" asked Two-Bit, leaping off the couch. "Say something, Dal!"

"'s all right," Dally said through gritted teeth. "Some lil' shit shot my hand. 'M okay." A trickle of blood ran down the palm of Dally's hand.

"EVERYONE GET INTO THE BATHROOM!" shouted Darry, commanding them. "It's the only room without windows." The greasers all sprinted to the tiny bathroom. Dally picked himself up off the ground, and, cradling his wounded left hand, followed.

"Glory," said Dally, ducking into the shower and lying down in the bathtub. "It's like when ya parents got shot, it's just like that, we're all gonna die and it's all my fault..." His fingers went into their usual habit of tapping and more blood streamed out of his hand.

"Stop moving it!" Sodapop said. He got a towel and tossed it to Dally, who wrapped it around his hand. He winced.

"Guys, in case we all die, I just wanna tell ya," Dally said shakily. "I really don't hold it against ya, ya'll really are my friends."

"You're our friend, too, Dal," said Ponyboy nervously, sitting on the sink. "I'm not holding it against you for hurting me." Dally smiled gratefully at the youngest greaser.

"What did you do that set them off?" asked Steve.

"Nothin'," Dallas said. "I was just sittin' by Johnnycake's grave, vistin' him, 'cause it's my birthday, then them Socs start chasing me out the cemetery-"

"It's your birthday, Dally?" said Two-Bit, surprised. There was the sound of a gun going off outside, and they all flinched. "How come you never told us?"

"It ain't no big deal, that's why," Dally said.

"Well, you're doing something legal, once," Two-Bit said. He laughed at Dally's scandalized expression. "You're a _legal_ adult!" Dally swatted at Two-Bit's head with his good hand.

The greasers talked, trying to lighten the mood, about the rumble.

"Just they wait!"

"We'll kick their asses!"

"Then we'll get drunk!"

"An' we'll steal their girls!"

Dally mostly kept out of the conversation. He was gripping his injured hand tightly, trying to stop the flow of blood coming out of it. Darry noticed his pained expression.

"I'm going to go check if they're still there," he said. "We need to get Dallas to the hospital."

"No, we don't!" Dally said, shocked, sitting up straight. "They'll be askin' questions, an' then I'll have ta explain things... and we're gonna get in trouble..." Darry thought.

"Fine. I'll check, but we bandage your hand and get the bullet out here," he compromised. "How does that sound?"

"All right," Dally said. With a relieved sigh, he lay back in the tub and watched the towel wrapped around his hand get bloody. The gang waited anxiously, listening for any gunfire. Darry came back alive and unhurt in a minute, though.

"They're all gone," he said. "Normally I wouldn't be suggesting this, but Two-Bit, can you run over to the drugstore and pick up some antiseptic? And some bandages?"

"Darry's letting me shoplift!" Two-Bit said gleefully. "It's about time!" He raced out of the house.

"I just hope he won't get caught," said Darry, rolling his eyes. "Let's see that hand of yours, Dal."

Dally unwrapped the bloody towel Sodapop had given him from his hand. He clenched his teeth, and a hiss of air came out of his mouth. His good hand latched onto the side of the tub. He felt like he needed to grip onto something.

"Shit," said Soda, walking over to him. "You need me to knock him out? Hold him down? That bullet's in deep."

"Just hold him down, Soda," Darry ordered his brother. "All right, Dally. This is gonna hurt a lot, and..." He placed his switchblade on Dally's palm, next to the bullet hole. Dally closed his eyes and prepared to have his skin cut. "Can someone else do this?" Darry asked.

"Darry's scared of a little bit of blood?" Steve teased. "I'll do it, Dar." Darry handed Two-Bit the knife. "Like he said, Dal. If you need to hold onto something, I think Soda's hair is a good choice. He won't mind if it gets ripped out." Soda gave Steve a dirty look.

"Stop playing around," Soda said.

"Fine, fine. Just hold onto the tub or somethin'. It is perfectly okay to scream," Steve instructed, knowing full well of Dally's habit of not showing his emotions. He let Dally prepare for a few minutes. "Ready?"

"As I'll ever be," Dally said through gritted teeth. "Go on, I had it done before." In New York, he'd gotten shot a lot. But he'd always gotten the bullet out at the local hospital.

Steve sliced the knife deep into Dallas's palm and dug around in his hand for the bullet. "Steve, you're gonna kill him, you keep twisting that knife around," a white-faced Ponyboy said. Dally was howling in pain as Steve moved the knife. Then, the bullet was finally dug out. Steve yanked out the knife gently as he could. Dally looked like he was going to pass out. Blood was gushing out of his hand, and it hurt like all hell.

Two-Bit ran in with the stolen bandages and antiseptic. Darry grabbed the bandages and started wrapping Dally's hand as quickly and tightly as he could. As he pulled the bandages tighter, Dally let out a gasp of air and passed out. He woke up in seconds, though, and insisted that he had never passed out.

The sun had only been down half an hour. Dally had finally seen a sunset, and he'd seen it with Johnny. He'd gotten shot by Socs, and had made up with the gang.

_All in all_, he figured, _I had a pretty interesting eighteenth birthday._


	23. Ice and Gold

**Nothing. Just... nothing. Slightly graphic violence. I'm sorry. But reviews will help dry my bitter writer's tears... and so will the fire from your flaming...**

* * *

"Have you ever loved someone so much, you'd give an arm for?  
Not the expression, no, literally give an arm for?  
When they know they're your heart  
And you know you were their armor..."

-from "When I'm Gone" by Eminem

* * *

"Who's ready for a rumble?" screamed Sodapop, leaping off the porch steps and onto the sidewalk. He nearly started doing a cartwheel, but was reminded of the last rumble and stopped.

"Me!" yelled back the rest of the gang. They rushed out onto the street.

"Who wants a beer? Going once. Going twice. Sold to Dally?" Two-Bit offered, knowing Dally liked getting a bit drunk before rumbles.

"Nah," Dallas said. "Thanks anyway, though." Two-Bit gave him a weird look. Dally never said 'thanks'. Only 'I said no, so leave me the fuck alone'. He didn't look so great either. Not in an assessment of his handsomeness, but the towheaded guy looked a bit pale and tensed up.

"You doing okay, Dal?" asked Darry quietly as they walked to Quinten Park. He and Darry walked behind the whooping, cheering gang.

"Uh, yeah. I think I'm comin' down with somethin', maybe. Stomach flu," he said. He said it so casually, you would've never guessed he was lying. "Oh shit, Darry. I kinda forgot somethin' back at the house. I'll meetcha at the park." He looked hopefully at his gang leader. Darry looked back into his eyes, trying to figure out if he was fabricating a lie or not. Evidently, he didn't notice.

"All right. Be back," Darry told him. Dally nodded and ran off into the darkness. Darry shrugged and kept on walking.

Dallas loped through the streets and back to the Curtis house. He swung open the door and walked into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter and sighed. Diverting attention, that's all he was doing. He hated lying to his friends. He seriously thought he might be contracting the stomach flu, because his stomach felt like a ton of bees were swarming around in it. But he knew what was making him feel like that- guilt. Nothing but guilt, pure and simple.

He walked into he and Darry's bedroom, where his belongings had been deposited again. He reached into the drawer that contained his non-clothing possessions and pulled out Johnny's jean jacket. He brought it up to his thin face and got a good whiff of smoke and blood. A lump clogged his throat, and he set it down again. He checked to see if everything, including his pillow, was in place. It was.

His right hand, the one he used to punch the most, wasn't the one that had gotten shot, thank God. His left was still wrapped in bandages. Dally held it to his chest as he ran back to Quinten Park.

"I'm here, ya'll," he said as he joined his gang and Tim's outfit. "Ready ta beat some Soc ass?" He grinned, despite himself, always excited for a fight. He made sure his jacket wasn't going to get in the way or anything. He walked over to Tim, because he hadn't talked to the guy in a while. "Hey, Tim. Sorry I ain't talked ta ya."

"It's all right, Dally," said the dark-haired hood, smiling grimly back at his friend. "You ready?"

"I sure am," Dally said, lighting a cigarette. Unexpectedly, he clapped Tim on the back before wandering off to his gang.

And the Socs arrived.

When Dally saw them, a wicked smile curved his lips. It was going to work, then. They were all dressed like they normally did for a rumble: as if they were going to the drive-in. Some of them had the obvious bulges of weapons in their sweater and pants pockets. Dally was sure the other greasers saw, but they were probably too blood-lusting to care. They wanted a fight.

"Who's starting?" Dally heard Ponyboy ask quietly.

"Good question," Darry said. He turned to Dallas. "Hey, Dal. We figured, since you want to get them back so bad, you should go first. Savvy?"

"Savvy," said Dally. He grinned. It was only his third time starting a rumble here in Tulsa, and he remembered from the other two times that it was as fun as fuck.

The New Yorker walked out between the Socs and the greasers. "Anyone dumb enough ta fight me?" he bellowed at the Socs, anger and excitement blazing in his eyes. For a second, no one answered. Then a familiar-looking guy stepped out of the masses and said, "I wouldn't call it dumb, but I'll fight you." Dally's stomach did a few somersaults as he realized who the guy was. Dally had last seen him buckling his belt... after raping him on Johnny's grave.

"Believe me, it's dumb, ya little shit," Dally hissed furiously. He swung at the Soc and snapped his nose. Around him, the fight erupted. It was like it was all sped up, they were punching and kicking and rolling and running so fast. Dally accidentally punched away a Soc with his bad hand, and nearly screamed in pain. Instead, he concentrated on punching the hell out of the guy who raped him.

"_That's-" _-he punched him in the stomach- "_What-_" -Dally got kicked in the balls, but he retaliated by breaking the Soc's wrist- _"Ya fuckin'_ _get!_" He left the Soc passed out on the ground, kicked another Soc in the back and launched into a fight with him.

The rest of the greasers were doing pretty well. Dally saw Darry punching Paul Holden, just like last time. Ponyboy and Soda were taking on one large Soc together, and holding their own. Steve was lying on the ground, being punched by a Soc, but one of Tim Shepard's boys kicked the Soc off him. Two-Bit was holding a Soc against a tree and punching him in the face repeatedly, yelling insults. Tim was dunking a Soc into the fountain, letting him breathe, punching him, and dunking him again, laughing all the while.

Dally was fighting with all his strength, pushing his limits and forcing himself to try harder. He smashed heads together, he broke ribs, he elbowed Socs in the guts. He was enjoying every second. Until a Soc grabbed him and held him down.

"So," said the Soc, ignoring that they were getting tripped over every few seconds by people fighting. "We didn't shoot you down, the other day. Disappointed?"

"Never," Dally said, spitting in the Soc's face. The saliva dripped back onto him, but he didn't care.

"Like we shot down those stupid Curtis freaks," said the Soc venomously. Dally's chest ached from being sat on, but otherwise than that, the Soc wasn't inflicting any damage. _What the fuck is he trying to do? _Dally thought, struggling under the Soc's heavy body. "And like we could've shot you down. Remember that little Cade kid? Wasn't it hilarious when his face was all burnt and black? And you were crying, too, I bet. Over a little kid?" Anger pulsed through Dally's veins at the mentions of the Curtis parents and Johnny.

The Soc shook his head and grinned mockingly. "Well, you got a little taste of where you're going when you were in that stupid fire with that retarded kid. Hope you like hot weather, greaser." The gears spun in Dally's brain. He had planned to carry out his plan later, but sooner was better than later. It'd have to work...

To anyone that happened to be watching, you could barely see it. Dallas's good hand moved on pure instinct, reaching into his leather jacket swiftly. There was the glint of light reflecting off of metal, and then a loud BANG. The sound of a heater being fired.

There was a spurt of blood and Dallas was free from the Soc on his chest. The fighting stopped as soon as the gun went off, but they were too stunned to run off. Dally had fired his heater again, and, in another shot, had killed the Soc that had raped him.

_"Dally, stop!" _hollered Tim Shepard's voice. But there was two more shots and the boy that had called Dally a faggot had fallen, too.

There was one moment when everything was quiet except for the sound of Dally's labored breaths and the water running in the fountain. He held the gun, his hand quivering slightly, like he was still trying to figure out what it was. He looked up, his blond bangs falling in his face.

Soc or greaser, rich or poor, black or white- they all were staring at him with wide eyes. The Socs looked like they wanted to run, but were afraid to. The greasers that didn't know Dally very well were shocked and a bit scared that anyone would dare to bring a heater to a skin-only rumble. The greasers that knew Dally -Two-Bit, Soda, Darry, Steve, Pony, Tim- looked like they wanted to run toward him and wrench the gun from his hands. But they didn't. They were too afraid of the terrible demon that their friend had become.

Dally closed his eyes for four or so seconds. Words echoed in his mind: _"Nothing gold can stay"... "Hope you like hot weather"... "It's called payback"... "Take care"... _But most of all, Johnny's words from his letter. "_There's still lots of good in the world. Tell Dally. I don't think he knows."_

_No, Johnnycakes_, he thought. _There ain't any good in the fucking world now that you're gone. _

He opened his eyes. Everyone was still staring. Some eyes were now focused on the bloody messes of the three Socs Dally had shot. Caspar, the boy who had called Dally a faggot, was recognizable only by the bandage on his arm. He had been shot right in the stomach. The Soc that had told Dally he was going to hell was shot right through the chin and up into the skull. He was lying, sprawled, on the ground, the very picture of gory death. The Soc that had raped Dally had a bullet in his heart and was dead before he hit the ground.

_Come on, _Dally thought frantically, like the Socs could hear what he was thinking. _Come on, I know you all brought heaters! At least chains! _Dally stood there, holding the gun at his side, facing the Socs. His heart was pounding so loud he was sure it would make them all deaf.

There was a small whisper behind him. "Dally..." the voice said. "Dally, don't do it..." Dally spun around and saw Ponyboy, huddled next to Darry, scared into shivers. He looked up at the older greaser. "Johnny wouldn't want that... Dallas, stay gold for him..." Ponyboy knew, then. He knew of Dally's plan, and knew that it would work. Dally had never gotten what he wanted from his life except broads, a gang, and Johnny. _I should at least get what I want now! _he thought.

He realized he was staring at his gang. Two-Bit was pale-faced, too scared to even crack a joke. Darry was wild-eyed and gripping Ponyboy tight to him. Ponyboy looked close to crying, and he was shaking his head, like he couldn't believe what was happening. Steve was just staring empty-eyed at his friend. Sodapop was unconscious on the ground by their feet.

"Well?" Dally said. His voice was cold, and he barely recognized it. "Well?" He looked at the Socs, glaring daggers.

One Soc stepped forward, and pulled a gun out of his pants pocket. Slowly, like he didn't know what he was doing, he walked over to Dally. He bent back Dally's wrist, forcing him to drop the gun. Dally smiled. It wasn't a genuine smile, but instead, a knowing, cunning smile. He was about to get what he wanted.

He took it all in, standing there. The fireflies blinking into existence and then out. The trickle of water from the fountain. The way the night smelled: like blood and sweat and death. The feeling of his feet planted firmly on the ground. The pleading stares of his friends.

The Soc forced open Dallas's left eyelid. He positioned the gun right onto Dally's ice blue eye. The greaser and the Soc met eye contact, or what eye contact they could make. Dally's eyes were narrowed and determined. The Soc boy's eyes were dull, and it was obvious he was drunk. Dally stood firm, though. He knew what he had done by bringing a heater to a skin rumble and killing three boys. He had made it legal for the Socs to take out their weapons they shouldn't have brought. According to the usual rumble rules, the Socs now could shoot at them.

"Any last words, greaser?" asked the Soc cruelly.

"I tried ta stay gold, but I'm made 'a ice," Dally said hoarsely. He un-clenched his fists. Prepared for the shot. He took a shuddering breath.

"No! Stop!" called a voice. But it was too late. The gun fired, and the bullet shot into Dally's head, his brain matter spraying out of the back of it and onto his friends.

But instead of the shoot-out that everyone expected, a whole lot of different things happened. Ponyboy started bawling into Darry's jacket. Tim Shepard bent over and vomited at the sight of his friend, sprawled on the ground with his left eye and brain blown out. Two-Bit ran over to Dally's corpse, and, completely losing it, shouted "NO!" at the sky. There was the sound of clattering footsteps on stone, and Cherry Valance ran right between the Socs and the greasers. She approached Dally's body.

"Oh my God," she said. "Dallas..." She burst into very un-Soc-like tears. Cherry looked at Dally's body again, and walked toward the payphone on the street corner.

"No! Don't call the fuzz!" Steve pleaded with her, trying to knock the phone out of her hand. She kept dialing.

"I need you with medical help at Quinten Park as fast as you can," Cherry said. Her hand was shaking so hard she dropped the phone. She snatched it off the ground and hung it up quickly.

Steve glared at her. "You just had to do that. Now we're all getting the chair." He was crying silently, tears trailing down his face. He ran back to the greasers. _"What are you doing? The fuzz are coming, get out!" _The Socs ran for their cars and, dropping their heaters, drove off. But the greasers stayed. A few of them, the ones that didn't know Dally very well, the scared boys, ran off. But most of them stayed. They stared down at Dallas's body.

"This is what he wanted, wasn't it," Darry said to no one in particular. It wasn't a question. They all knew. "Well, I hope he knows we're all so happy with his decision!" He said that sarcastically and bitterly. He kicked the side of the fountain in anger.

"That's Dal for you," Tim Shepard said, wiping off his mouth shakily. "He might've let himself get die, but he sure as hell went down calling the shots." The greasers, who'd experienced this a lot, understood. This was all part of Dally's plan. He planned to shoot some Socs, he planned to get shot for it. Just like pulling an unloaded heater on the fuzz, he was the one throwing the game.

He lay on the ground face-up. His arms were spread out, like he was hugging Johnnycake in heaven. His face was pale, and fairly normal- except for the fact that he was missing an eye, and there was a bullet in his head. His hair was sticking up all over the place as it always did. His face was angry, as usual. He was lying in a pool of his own blood.

Although no one quite believed it, although they all tried to deny it, although there _was_ good and gold left in the world, Dallas Winston was dead.


	24. Be Seeing Him

**I am so sorry! *bursts into tears* I love Dally just as much as you guys do, honest. I think I torture my favorite characters the most.**

**Sorry for the weird format for the 'newspaper article'.**

* * *

"And in a burst of light that blinded every angel  
As if the sky had blown the heavens into stars  
You felt the gravity of tempered grace  
Falling into empty space  
No one there to catch you in their arms..."

-from "Iridescent" by Linkin Park

* * *

It was hard to talk while crying. Darry learned this the hard way as he explained Dallas's suicide to the paramedics.

"He pulled his heater and shot three Socs," Darry said, not stopping for a breath at all. "He stood there for a bit and then a Soc came up and shot him, 'cause it wasn't against our rules anymore, and he was shot right through the head, and-" Darry was crying and trying to breathe and hiccuping all at once, and he nearly choked.

"Calm down, Mr. Curtis," said one of the paramedics, loading him into the ambulance. Darry strained against the bindings holding him down.

"But he's dead, and he said he tried to stay gold, just like Johnny-" A needle penetrated Darry's bicep, and he passed out.

As the ambulances drove off, loaded with greasers, the fuzz searched and inspected all four dead boys. The three Soc boys had no weapons on them, but they did have alcohol in their blood. The dead Socs were zipped into body bags.

Dally was searched. It wasn't just a simple little pat-down, with Dallas Winston it was always a full-on strip search. The dead greaser was stripped completely and lay naked on the ground as the cops searched through his clothes. They found a switchblade, matches, and an obviously shoplifted pack of cigarettes. One of the cops walked over to where he died, picked up his loaded heater, and brought it over to the rest of the offending items.

"Looks like the boys aren't making it up," said the cop quietly, looking at Dallas's pale skin, which stood out against the dark stone of the ground. "The kid's been fighting for sure-" -they looked at the bruises that had barely started to form on Dally's body- "-and that's one hell of a shot that killed him." Shaking his head, the police chief zipped Dallas's naked form into a body bag.

* * *

When Tim Shepard woke up, he was in a hospital. Instantly, he sat bolt upright. He hated hospitals. Why was the hell was he in there, anyway? A memory flickered dimly at the back of his tired mind.

Dally... pulling his heater and shooting three Socs... letting himself get shot...

"So you really did hate life, didn't you," Tim said aloud, as if Dally could hear him. He clenched his jaw, trying not to let any weak emotions show on his face. He remembered how Dally did that all the time, and felt a sick feeling in his stomach. He lay back down on his bed. He decided not to care that he was in a hospital. He probably needed to be there, anyway.

A reporter came into his room later that day. "So, Mr. Shepard. How did you feel when your friend committed suicide?" Tim spat at the reporter and turned over onto his stomach, not wanting him to see his angry, sick face.

"Leave me alone," he said into his pillow. When he didn't hear receding footsteps, he yelled, "Get out of here or I'll rip your fucking head off and feed it to my dog!" The reporter quickly left.

* * *

_YOUNG TROUBLEMAKER'S VIOLENT END_

_Dallas "Dally" Sean Winston, aged 18 years, was killed on October fifteenth, one day ago. He faced a rape and assault charge. He had severe anger issues, depression, and PTSD._

_The boy was doing therapy sessions. It was decided after the rape charge was made that _

_he would do therapy sessions with a psychiatrist until October twelfth. On that day he was tested and interviewed_

_to determine if his disorders had gotten any better. Otherwise he was to be delivered to the electric chair. _

_The results of his tests were going to be posted in the paper today, but due to his death, they no longer matter. Nevertheless: his results concluded that _

_his disorders had gotten even worse. He was going to be taken to the electric chair on the eighteenth._

_But why isn't he being notified of that today? Why isn't he going to parties and talking with his friends?_

_On the fifteenth, there was a gang fight at Quinten Park. "We call them rumbles," Winston's close friend, Timothy Shepard (19) says. "This rumble, we weren't supposed to bring weapons."  
_

_So how did three boys get murdered in that 'rumble'? How did one commit suicide?_

_Dallas Winston had brought a loaded gun and a switchblade to the rumble. So had several other boys, all on the opposite side of the fight. _

_"Dally and us, we were greasers," says Ponyboy Curtis, (14) another friend of Winston. "The people we were fighting were the rich kids. We call them the Socials, or the Socs." _

_No one knows what made Winston shoot the gun. They were all just fighting, according to all the witnesses, and all of a sudden, a gun went off and they saw that a 'Soc' was dead. _

_Winston killed two more 'Socs'. "He planned it," said another one of Dallas's friends, Darrel Curtis (23) says. "We have rules for the rumbles. If it's a no-weapons rumble, and someone shoots off a gun or starts cutting someone with a switchblade, the other side is allowed to use whatever weapons they have on them."_

_According to Darrel, he knew full well what he was doing. Winston was suicidal and depressed, because his best friend, Johnny Cade, had died. Winston knew that, by shooting his gun, he would get shot at. _

_According to the witnesses, Winston just "stood there" and waited for someone to come shoot him. "He was smiling, too," says Shepard. "He wanted to die."_

_"His last words were 'I tried to stay gold, but I'm made of ice'," says Ponyboy Curtis. "I'll never forget those words."_

_Winston was shot by one of the 'Socs' through the eye, effectively killing him. The police were called by Sherri "Cherry" Valance, a bystander. When they arrived, the 'Socs' had fled the scene, leaving behind their weapons. _

_Sherri Valance was the girl that Dallas Winston had assaulted and raped, making the case all the more unusual. "I know what he did was awful, but _

_I didn't want him to kill himself," she says._

_His friends all were taken to the hospital to be treated for their wounds from the 'rumble'. They were all very distraught over Dallas's death. _

_No suicide note has been found yet, but it is reported Dallas wasn't very good at writing. _

_Persons with information as to who killed Winston are urged to step forward. His funeral will be in three days._

* * *

Ponyboy set down the newspaper, his face troubled. He lay in his hospital cot, staring at the bright white ceiling. There was no suicide note found? Ponyboy frowned and twisted over under his sheet.

There was a knock on the door. "Hello?" asked a quiet voice.

"Come in," Ponyboy said. He was expecting a social worker or yet another reporter, but in came an elderly lady. She looked like she could be somebody's grandmother. She was plump and had a fuzzy cloud of white hair. She was wearing a name tag that identified her as Dr. Maryanne Smythe.

"You were Dally's therapist, right?" Ponyboy said, propping himself up on his pillows.

"I was," Dr. Smythe said. She stuck out a hand, and Ponyboy shook it with his bandage-covered arm. He had broken his wrist in the rumble. "Hello, Ponyboy. How are you doing?"

"As well as anyone would be if that happened to them," Pony said glumly. "Thanks for asking, though." To his surprise, Dr. Smythe chuckled as she sat down next to him on a chair.

"I'd gotten very used to being shouted at by Dallas for asking that," she admitted. "No disrespect to him, of course." Pony nodded.

"Why are you here?" the young greaser asked.

"I think I know about his suicide note," said Dr. Smythe. Ponyboy looked at her directly, surprised. She was serious. "Sometimes, Dallas wrote down what he couldn't bear to talk about. Since he didn't tell you about his plans, I can only assume he left a note." She sighed, thinking of her dead patient. "The last thing he wrote was 'It's getting worse'. I guess I should've realized that he wouldn't live to hear the news that he was going to be executed."

Executed. Such a clean, sharp word. Executed. Ponyboy pictured Dallas under one of those old-timey things that chopped off people's heads. He didn't picture Dallas sitting on the chair.

"You haven't been back to your house after the rumble, right?" asked Dr. Smythe.

"No, we haven't," Ponyboy said. "We're waiting until all the gang is better."

"When you do go home, I advise you to check for a note," Dr. Smythe said. She patted Ponyboy's hand. "I do have a question for you, though."

_Great, _Ponyboy thought. _She _is_ a reporter. _"Fine," he said aloud.

"What do you think he meant by his last words?" she asked him.

_"I tried ta stay gold, but I'm made 'a ice"_ echoed inside the young boy's head in Dally's voice.

"I read him a poem once," Pony said. "'Nothing Gold Can Stay' by Robert Frost. I read it to Johnny once, so I thought Dally might like hearing it. He never went to school, and he didn't even know who Robert Frost was. I didn't think he understood the poem, really. But he must've, because what me and Johnny realized 'staying gold' meant was the way he was using it. We used to say it meant being yourself and not ending up... well, like Dal." Ponyboy paused, thinking.

Dr. Smythe said, "I understand. Go on."

"I think he meant 'ice' to mean that he used to not really show his feelings. He still did that, actually, up until he died," Pony told her. "And he meant that he tried to stay gold, himself, but Johnny dying changed him too much." Dr. Smythe nodded, her brow creased.

"It was a pleasure talking to you, Ponyboy," said Dr. Smythe, smiling at him weakly. "You're a very smart boy... stay gold." With a wink, she walked out of the room.

* * *

"Welcome home," said Darry in a forcedly cheerful voice.

The gang stepped into the Curtis kitchen, looking around like they had stepped into a different universe. Everything looked exactly the same as it did before the rumble: beer cans on the counter, unwashed dishes in the sink, cheerful but peeling yellow paint on the walls.

"Home sweet home?" tried Two-Bit, eyeing the kitchen knives. There was still one missing- the one the Socs used to cut Dally as one of them raped him. Two-Bit looked away quickly.

"We're supposed to check for a suicide note," Ponyboy said quietly, setting his jacket on the back of a chair. Darry bit his lip.

"Everyone but Ponyboy, come with me," he said. "Sorry, Pony, but it's a _suicide note _we're looking for. It's not going to be a pleasant thing." Ponyboy scowled and sat down in the chair he had put his jacket on.

Darry, Sodapop, Steve, and Two-Bit walked down the hall silently, solemn as professional mourners at a funeral. Darry opened the door to his bedroom, and there was a collective gasp. There was blood all over Dallas's pillow.

"It's paint," Darry said, after a closer inspection. "It's just paint." He threw aside the covers on the bed and searched for a note.

"Darry, he wrote something in the paint," Steve said. Darry turned back toward the pillow. In large, sloppy letters: _look undr the pilow _was written. Dally had also drawn an arrow.

Hesitantly, Sodapop lifted the pillow up. It revealed a sheet of notebook paper.

"Jesus Christ," Two-Bit said, his voice cracking in emotion. Soda hugged the pillow to his chest like it was a life vest, and he was in the middle of an infinite ocean.

"I'll read it," offered Darry. He picked up the paper and cleared his throat. He sat down on the edge of his bed. "'I don't know how to start this, but if you're reading this, I'm dead'." At that line, Darry's eyes stung with tears. He took a breath. "'This is how I planned it. I put this note here before the rumble, so I ain't knowing how everything turned out for me.

I brought a heater to the rumble, guys. I hid it in my jacket. None of you noticed, or you wouldn't be reading this. But anyway, I planned to bring out the heater. I was going to fire a warning shot. After that, it'd be all right for the Socs to shoot me. They'd shoot me and that's how I'd go down. I planned it long and hard, and ain't it a great plan? That is, if you're like me. If you hate the world and you can't find anything good left in it.

Remember how I used to be before I died? How I was fed up and sad all the time? Remember how I hit you with my belt, Darry? Glory, I couldn't stop thinking about that. I felt just like my old man. It made me feel terrible. Maybe he didn't mean to hit me. Because I sure as hell didn't mean to hit you. Remember how I would go to Johnny's grave and talk to it? Remember how I raped Cherry just to get my anger out?

I don't want ya'll ending up like that. If any of you get like that, I'd... that's funny, ain't it? I almost wrote that I'd kill myself. That's already done when you're reading this. I keep forgetting. But I'm not kidding, guys. Please -yeah, I just said please- don't end up like me. I'd never rest happy.

I don't have anything that is mine, really. And I'm not about to will out my heater. So I can't give you anything. I hope you don't mind, though.

I want you to bury me with my heater -just unload it first- and Johnnycake's old jacket. I don't want to wear it, though. It's his and always will be. I got some clothes in the dresser. I can just wear those.

Whoever's reading this: Tell Dr. Smythe not to blame me dying on her. It wasn't her fault at all. Tell Ponyboy to stay gold from me. Tell Darry that I didn't mean to hit him. Tell Steve to stand up to his old man, because that's the only way he's going to get out of that mess. Tell Tim not to remember me all depressed. Tell Two-Bit to take care of his sister. Tell Soda that he isn't dumb at all- he can read, he can write, and he's one of the nicest people I've ever met. Tell Cherry that I love her.

And I'll tell Johnnycake that ya'll miss him. I'll be seeing him.'"


	25. Goldheartened

**And I'm presenting... the very last chapter. It was fun, guys. It was. :( But, this is my very first completed fic that isn't a oneshot! That's good, at least. **

**I really enjoyed writing this. I hope you all enjoyed reading it just as much.**

**As this is the last chapter, there is two quotes. I think it's only fitting that I start the fic with the start of a song and end with the end...**

**If you liked this fic, check out my other Outsiders fics! :)**

**And, since I've forgotten, I don't own The Outsiders, "Nothing Gold Can Stay", or "Fire and Ice". The first is by S.E. Hinton, and the second and third are by Robert Frost.**

**Also, thank you to anyone that has reviewed, faved, or followed. You guys are great, your reviews make me so happy. :)**

* * *

"You can box it in  
Bury it in the ground  
You can close it off and turn it away  
Try to keep it down, six feet in the ground  
But love don't die..."

-from "Love Don't Die" by The Fray

* * *

"...When you feel my heat  
Look into my eyes  
It's where my demons hide  
It's where my demons hide  
Don't get too close  
It's dark inside  
It's where my demons hide  
It's where my demons hide."

-from "Demons" by Imagine Dragons

* * *

The funeral was on a cloudy, chilly day that matched Dallas's personality. Rain-filled gray clouds drifted slowly above Tulsa. Everyone was freezing in their suits and dresses.

At Dally's wishes, he was buried clutching his heater. His body was lying on top of Johnny's jean jacket. The coffin he lay in was open. His white-blond hair was combed down, but even in death, it stuck up. His face was angry, and he looked like at any second, he might jump out of the coffin and start shooting people with the heater he held. He wore street clothes: his leather jacket, sneakers, jeans, and a T-shirt. He looked so normal it was scary.

"Hello," said a girl's voice. "My name is Cherry Valance, and a while ago, Dallas Winston raped me." Cherry had her red hair loose, just like Dally used to like. She was wearing a knee-length black dress. _Dally would've gotten so turned on by her_, Steve thought sadly. "This grave right next to the one Dallas will be buried in is Johnny Cade's grave. That was his best friend, and the reason he raped me. Johnny had just died, and he was practically going crazy because of it. He found me on the streets and took his anger out on me." Cherry paced in front of Dally's grave, head held high like the Soc she was. But she was sure showing emotion.

"Dallas was allowed to live for the time being, and he started getting more and more depressed," Cherry said. "I can't say that's not the fault of my friends. There were some awful things done to him, right on this ground where I'm standing." And she stood right on the spot where Dally had been raped. It hadn't even gotten cleaned. That, all the hoods and JDs there admired. A Soc literally just stepped into a sludge-pit of residue from Dally's rape. And not by accident, on purpose. That was different.

"My friends, well, one of them, raped him right here. They told him not to tell anyone that would tell the police, or he was dead. He agreed," Cherry said. "For a bit, we were in the same boat. I was still torn up about him raping me. He was torn up about getting raped, too. But I was angry. His rape just made him even sadder."

A haunting image of Dally crying in the Curtis family living room after he explained the rape to his friends floated into Darry's mind.

"I don't know much about how his life was until the rumble between us Socials and the greasers. I just know he was very sad," Cherry told the crowd. Her speech wasn't supposed to be a tearjerker, or a remembrance speech. It was stating facts. "I was driving past Quinten Park the night of the rumble, to see how the fight was going, and I saw him go down." Cherry licked her wind-chapped lips. "If he was alive now, I'd just want to tell him that I forgive him. It _was_ his fault, but he was beating himself up about that. I really do miss him."

With that, Cherry walked back into the crowd, accompanied by polite applause.

It had been debated heatedly in the gang about who would say the remembrance speech. There had been a few arm-wrestles, a few serious discussions, and a few screaming matches. No one could decide who was closest to Dally. Was it Ponyboy, because they both knew what 'stay gold' meant? Was it Darry, because they had gotten closer when they had to share a bedroom? Was it Two-Bit, because they were closest in age? Was it Sodapop, because he was just so nice to everyone? Was it Steve, because, according to him, he once caught Dally getting a hard-on for Cherry?

It was to the displeasure of all the greasers that they'd share the funeral speech. It was very unorthodox, and not pre-written. But Darry said it was the best compromise. They'd go in age order, youngest to oldest.

The five greasers walked up next to Dallas's maple-wood coffin. Ponyboy timidly cleared his throat. Next to him, Soda put an arm around his shoulder for moral support.

"Hi," Ponyboy said shyly, eyes lowered, looking at Dally. "I'm Ponyboy Curtis, and I'm one of Dallas's friends. I'm going to be reading aloud a poem. It was written by Robert Frost. He also wrote "Nothing Gold Can Stay", which is a poem that I read to Dally once." Ponyboy pulled a sheet of paper out of his suit pocket and began to read:

"'Some say the world will end in fire, some say in ice. From what I've tasted of desire, I hold with those who favor fire. But if it had to perish twice, I think I know enough of hate to say that for destruction, ice is also great, and would suffice'." Ponyboy finally gained the courage to look up.

"Dallas's world ended in _both_ ice and fire," he said quietly.

Sodapop ruffled the youngest greaser's hair. "I'm Sodapop Curtis. Again, one of Dal's good friends. I'm here to say, he wasn't all shootings and swearing." Soda tried for a smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he might cry. "He was a really good friend, though I bet none of you knew that." He pointed at the reporters. "He was rowdy, and he loved breaking the law. But he was loyal, and he was like a big brother to Johnny. That was a side you didn't see a lot. He could be a great person."

_If Dally knew that I was saying that,_ Soda thought,_ he'd hit me over the head and tell me never to call him nice again. _He tried not to let the tears gathering in his eyes overflow.

"My name's Steve Randle," said Steve. It was obvious he was crying from the way his voice was strained. "I ain't here to tell you Dally was a saint, or that he was a devil. I'm here to say... he was a human. I know some of you out there are thinking of him as a rapist and a murderer, but he really was a lot more than that.

He had some serious problems with his temper. He got drunk a lot. He was in a gang- remember the Heaters, in New York? They disbanded a few months ago, last I heard, but he used to lead them. He did have feelings, though, and I bet he'd get real angry, if he was alive and saw all those articles in the paper saying he's trash." Steve wiped his eyes. One of his tears dripped onto Dallas's pale face and rolled into his hair.

"I have to warn you, I wrote this when I was real crocked, so it might be-" Two-Bit started, but Darry elbowed him. Two-Bit smiled slightly, and took a piece of crumpled paper out of his pocket. He smoothed it out and squinted at it, trying to make out words in the mess of chicken scratch. "Oh, yeah. My name's Kieth Matthews. Everyone calls me Two-Bit, though. And I'm gonna tell you all a story about Dal." Two-Bit paused. He looked down at his paper.

"Okay, this was a year or so ago. Dal already served time for this, so it won't get him in-" Two-Bit realized he was talking about Dally like he was still alive, and he gritted his teeth. "And, uh, he's gone, so he ain't gonna get in the cooler." His hands shook. "Well, me and him were at a party. And we were kinda drunk. We were walkin' around, looking for some hot broads. Me and him both got some, and we were getting ready to leave. Then we saw this one broad. She was getting shoved up against a wall, and she was screaming and crying. There was this real muscular guy raping her.

I figured Dal wouldn't lift an eyebrow, 'cause he's had a few rape charges. But he looked over at me and I swear to God, he looked like he was going to puke. He told me, 'I'm gonna go get that sonofabitch off that broad'. And he walks right up to the guy and punches him in the face. They get in a huge fight, you know, and I'm hustlin' the girl out of the building. Me and him were just punching the hell out of that guy.

We ran off and went to my house to clean up. Dallas was bleeding so bad out of his arm that I thought he was going to die right there and then. I asked him why he was so mad about that girl getting raped. He said, 'It was 'cause I realized that musta been how I looked when I was rapin' broads in NY'. He was actually really torn up about it. Both of us got arrested and put in the cooler for awhile, on assault charges. He said he didn't care, that he deserved it.

I remembered this story at Johnny's funeral, when Dal was telling a story about Johnny. After a bit of seein' him depressed, I knew that I'd be telling it at his funeral soon," Two-Bit finished.

Finally, it was Darry's turn. He had just stood there numbly, tears sliding down his face as he heard his gang's speeches. He startled when Two-Bit said, "Dar, it's your turn." He stood up straighter and coughed, trying to take the lump out of his throat.

"My name's Darrel Curtis. I have to admit, I didn't know Dallas as well as the rest of the gang. That is, until he moved in with us for a bit, and had to share a room with me," Darry said. He was trying to stay calm and composed, but he just looked sad and somber. "All he wanted to do was get delivered to the chair, when he first moved in. He hated human company. Since we're a lower class family, me and him had to sleep in the same bed.

He would get onto the bed, right on the edge, because he didn't want to touch me. I don't know if he was afraid, or angry, or sad. But he just didn't want to be near me. He even fell off the bed a couple of times," Darry said. He remembered Dallas falling off the edge of the bed and swearing, and smiled through his tears. "My point is, he didn't like people. Except us -even us, he didn't like sometimes- and Johnny. Especially Johnny.

I'd see them walking down the sidewalk together to our house a lot. Dally'd be smoking, like he always was, and talking to Johnny about jumping someone in New York or something. Johnny'd be staring up at him, wide-eyed. He really admired Dal a lot, and even though he couldn't imagine jumping someone himself, Dallas was his hero. He wanted to be just like him. And every time I saw him and Johnny, I knew that if anything ever happened to Johnny, he'd fall apart.

And he sure did fall apart. But I think I can speak for all of us-" -Darry motioned at the rest of his gang- "-when I say that we aren't going to remember him like that. We'll remember him playing football in the vacant lot with us, trying to pick up broads at the drive-ins, bragging to Johnny about his old gang. He was so strong, he'd built up his walls high up to heaven. Johnny was his chink in the armor, and when he died, Dally's walls went down."

Ponyboy was sobbing, and Soda was clutching onto him, his face contorted in an effort to hide his tears. Dally's dead faced glared up at the sky eternally.

"We miss you, Dally," whispered Pony through his tears. No one else knew what to say, so the five greasers walked back into the masses and watched as their friend was lowered into the ground.

* * *

"What is hell like, Soda?" asked Ponyboy as he scribbled in his battered blue notebook. It was a typical day in the Curtis house- the gang was sprawled out in the living room, watching TV.

"Hell?" asked Soda. "God, I don't know. Lots of fire. Screaming. Why, are you planning on figuring out?" It was meant to be a joke, but Soda's tone was too worried. Ponyboy had been spending a lot of time alone in his and Soda's room, writing. He didn't want his little brother to end up like Dally...

"I'm writing a theme, for class," Ponyboy said. "It's about everything that's happened to us- from when I got jumped by the movie house to now. I'm having some trouble writing about Dal."

The rest of the greasers could ignore him no longer. Ponyboy was subject to the piercing stares of Soda, Two-Bit, Darry, and Steve.

"Do you think Dallas went to hell?" asked Ponyboy. "That's what's confusing me." A red-eyed Darry got up from his spot on the floor and stalked angrily toward Ponyboy.

"Ponyboy Michael Curtis," Darry said furiously, crouching down to his brother's height. "Don't you ever say that again." Poor Ponyboy looked like he was going to cry; he hated being shouted at.

"I'm sorry," Pony said, shrinking into the couch. "I was just wondering."

"Funny," Two-Bit said, just as angry as Darrel. "I was just wondering how you'd looked with your head caved in." Ponyboy turned pale and left the room.

"Two-Bit, you didn't need to say that," Soda said. "The kid's still a bit religious. He was taught in church that suicides went to Hell, and so did murderers and rapists. It's only natural for him to think that Dally went to hell."

* * *

That night, Darry found Pony's notebook and flipped to the last page. He called the rest of the gang into the room and they all read it...

_Surely Johnnycake was in heaven. Heaven would be all white-colored, like the inside of a pleasant summertime cloud. Everything would shine and sparkle, and it'd all be made of pure gold. I think he'd really like heaven, but he'd miss Dallas._

_Dally would be too bad for heaven. He'd go to hell for sure. It's not that he wasn't a good person, but he did too many terrible things to deserve heaven. Hell would be all on fire, like the inside of that old church when me and Johnny were rescuing those kids. Dally'd be chained up in the inside of a fiery jail cell, and he'd be screaming and yelling for his Johnnycake. _

_But he wouldn't be alone. Hell would be full of people like him. Legions of boys who nearly went down under streetlights. A plethora of suicides, thousands of gang leaders. An infinite amount of boys who'd lost everything they loved. So many people screaming for their loved ones in heaven. A million greasers who went down shooting, and, like Tim Shepard would say, 'calling the shots'. _

_Hellfire would melt Dally's ice, and all that there would be left was his heart of gold. _

* * *

**Now that it's all over, I have a few questions for you all.**

*** What was your favorite chapter? **

*** What was your favorite flashback?**

**Thanks for reading. Expect more Outsiders stuff from me! :)**

**Stay gold!**

**-Shady**


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